


A Society of Her Own

by SyrenGrey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, Dancing, Darcy - Freeform, F/M, Historical, Innocent, Jane Austen - Freeform, Mr. Darcy - Freeform, Muggle-born, Nobility, Noble Draco, Oneshot, POV Hermione Granger, Pining, Poetic, Prim And Proper, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Regency, Regency Romance, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sweet, Yearning, pride and prejudice - Freeform, romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22459183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyrenGrey/pseuds/SyrenGrey
Summary: Hermione Granger, a muggle-born of lowly birth, is invited at the behest of her friend Ginny to an aristocratic party hosted by a mysterious, aloof blond Earl. In her efforts to catch his eye, she eschews etiquette and civility amidst the backdrop of the glittering, cruel world of upper-class nobility.Regency Era AU.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 66
Kudos: 365





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:**  
>  Hello!  
> This fic was written for the Slytherin Cabal TumblrTuesday post for Regency Era.  
> Please forgive any historical inaccuracies regarding the muggle regency era. This is very much an AU set in the (mostly) magical world. 
> 
> S

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:  
>  **  
>  _Please do not upload this fic to another site/server without my explicit consent._  
> **  
>  Feel free to reach out if there is interest, I am quite responsive.  
> Thank you,  
> Syren

»»-------------¤-------------««

**The Soul selects her own Society**

The animated sounds of string against string waded between each elegantly decorated witch and doting wizard, their laughter and barely hushed gossip ringing in the room, mingling with the sounds of the quartet as if written for it by Ignal Pleyel himself. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest, and the tightness that accompanied it while the butterflies sprung and roamed in my stomach, as though sensing the beauty of the space around me and wanting ever-so-desperately to add to it. 

In truth, I had no idea what I was doing there, in my borrowed lilac gown with lace and ruffles, and shoes that squeezed my feet until I hardly felt my toes. I was a mere muggle-born girl, born of lowly parents, with no real ties to aristocracy except - 

"Hermione! You _came!_ " 

"Ginny," I smiled as the lovely girl with the copper hair drew her arms around me in a close embrace. "You all but forced me to come, don't you forget." 

"I know," she grinned, her dark eyes scoping the crowd of people, "and aren't you overjoyed for it?" 

"We'll see, perhaps I should have preferred to stay home and read," I responded, noting the slight purse of her lips as she fought the outright smile. 

"Who shall I introduce you to first?" 

It had come as a surprise to me how well Ginny had integrated into polite society. With her upbringing, though slightly more privileged with her pureblood lineage, was all but similar to mine. Her parents were poor, her father having lost everything after his part in the rebellion. Yet, ever the opportunist, Ginny had managed to find her way into Harry Potter's heart. 

"Where is your betrothed?" I hadn't spotted the black, unruly hair amidst the crowd. 

"He's still in France," she whispered, giving me a look that indicated her disapproval of the recent war efforts. She must have hardly seen him, as he served God and country to fight for our magical freedom. Though I had known him like my brother during our early school-years, his recent involvement with the war had won significant accolades, including land and title, and I had hardly an opportunity to congratulate him. His letter were far and few between, and though I had no doubt of our lasting friend, I had learned to fight against the ache of jealousy at Ginny's wealth of knowledge about Harry's current circumstances. 

"Come," her thin fingers wrapped around my wrist and I felt the forceful pull as she drew me forward, out of the drawing room and toward the ballroom.

The string quartet grew louder, to my delight, and I unabashedly marveled at the enormity of the room with its resplendent swirl of colours. Light hues and white lace flooded my vision, women with gowns that cost as much as my yearly earnings with real pearls and sapphires to adorn their delicate, pale necks. The white painted stucco columns framed the entrance of the grand ballroom, and the walls glittered like jewelry with the gold leaf frames and elegant pale green and ivory damask that rose like ivy to the ceiling. 

As Ginny moved to secure a glass of sherry, my gaze drifted over the space to land on a peculiar group of three loitering in the corner, overlooking the gliding guests. Though I spotted a young woman of fair complexion, and a dark-haired man beside her, my eyes fell upon the a rather tall, lithe gentleman, his hair stark and light, and eyes piercing blue as they lazily washed over the space. It took no particular sleuthing to recognize the boredom in their faces, as though they had been asked to merely supervise and were forbidden from enjoying the festivities. 

"I see you found our host, the Earl, and his little friends," Ginny turned to me, taking a small sip from her glass of golden liquid. It smelled of ripe pears and honey. 

"You're joking," I laughed. Were I to ever host an event such as this, I would do much more than merely watch from afar. Ginny's slender shoulder rose with a slight shrug as she turned to face the dancing guests. 

"Shall we say hello? It's only proper," she murmured into her glass. The act of approaching such solemn individuals felt like a daunting task to me in that moment. Without an option to dispute, I felt her fingers around my wrist once more as she escorted me down the side of the room and stopped shy several feet from the hosts. 

"Sirs, and my Lady," she said as she took a deep curtsy. I mimicked her, bowing my head as my knees parted to draw me low. 

The woman with the dark blonde hair and ashen face responded with a curtsy, done with a woeful lack of enthusiasm, and the men leaned forward in a deep and proper bow. 

"May I introduce myself, my name is Ginny Weasley -"

The woman interrupted Ginny's words with a sudden barking laugh, and the dark-haired man gave her a look of amusement. The blond glanced at them with narrow eyes and clear disapproval.

"And this is Hermione Granger," Ginny pressed a hand into the small of my back, thrusting me forward. I stumbled slightly before lifting my wrist toward the men. 

I could feel my breath struggling to escape my lips as my eyes caught those of the tall blond, his gaze surveying me with enough intensity to make me feel bare. My gaze averted to the ground, a sudden heat rising to the tops of my cheeks as his fingers captured mine and he drew them up to press a light, courteous kiss on my knuckles. 

"Granger?" the woman responded. "As in Granger's Dress Shoppe?" 

"Yes, my lady," I responded, my face burning with another form of embarrassment now. Why would a woman of high birth bother to know my father's Dress Shoppe?

"And Weasley? Arthur's girl? How have you managed to get an invitation to a party like this?" 

"Astoria, you dare to insult our guests?" the blond man challenged, though his features remained in a state of indifference. 

"My apologies, Draco," she said, her features suddenly sour, before turning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd without another word. 

"Draco... Malfoy?" I asked, my hand cradling the skin that had brushed against his lips.

"Indeed," he responded. As my eyes sought his, he turned his face to scan over the crowd with the lazy daze I had spotted earlier. 

A sudden urge to shake Ginny overcame me. Had she warned that she was inviting me to a Malfoy's party, I would have laughed in her face. 

"I didn't know you lived in Devon," I breathed, glancing from face to face. 

"He doesn't, this is his summer home. I'm Theodore Nott," the dark-haired man introduced, seeking my hand which I reluctantly offered. "Would either of you care to dance?" 

"I would!" Ginny interjected. 

I felt the tension in my lips and fought the instinct to glare at her as she disappeared into the crowd with Mr. Nott. 

I took a step toward the right of Draco and turned on my heel to face the dizzying crowd, my heart fluttering once more at the sheer beauty. I could never understand how one would grow bored of these events. I'd never seen a room breathing with such life. 

I peered up at him, permitting myself a brief moment to study his sharp features. My eyes washed over a curved masculine brow bone, perfectly-pointed nose, well-defined Cupid’s bow on rose-dipped lips, all atop a bare angular chin. His white-blond hair had been delicately brushed back, but as the night wore on several strands fell to frame his harsh features, giving him a rather youthful appearance than the stark hardness his blank expression seemed to indicate. His hands were folded behind him, his chest barely moving with calm breaths. 

“Do... Do you like to dance?" I asked.

"I'm tired of dancing," he said simply, as if that were enough information to dissuade my curiosity. 

"Ah," I replied, a small toying smile playing at my lips. "And how, pray tell, would one tire of dancing if it is one's expression of passion?" 

Our eyes met as he gave me a sideways glance.

"What, madam, would _you_ know of passion?" 

The sharp point of his words struck me with such offense that I couldn't help myself but laugh. His head tilted slightly, granting me another look. 

"Because I am not of noble birth? I should have no feeling?" 

"No, Miss Granger," he said, his words as plain and unfeeling as his expression, "I meant no offense." 

“Apologies, my Lord, for I have many doubts about that. I should beg to be excused, I would loathe to bore you more from my _lack of passion_." 

I thought I saw a fleeting flinch in his features, perchance a sense of regret - a novel emotion for him, I was sure - though I deigned to not be so hopeful. With his nod, I made my way back into the crowd and accepted the first hand that was offered to me in dance. 

I bore through the sting of his words, allowing their meaning to wash over me until my heart had grown cold and skin grew desensitized to the sting. The dance washed everything away, as with each step, glide, and brush of hand against hand, I found myself falling in love with the music and the moment. The eyes of many men fell upon me, lingering beats longer than their appropriate amounts, and yet I felt no sense of discomfort or embarrassment as I was offered to the next dance partner with reluctance. 

It wasn't, however, until I met the blue eyes again. 

His palm pressed against mine before we withdrew. His left foot stepped toward my extended right, and our hands connected once more. 

My eyes remained on him, even as I was passed to the next man, and his sought mine. 

I felt tense as a bowstring and warm as a dove soaking in sunbeams. 

As my current partner, a stout, portly man with a thick white mustache, pressed against my palm and ushered me back to Draco, I felt my heart rise to my throat as his fingers brushed against mine with more firmness than necessary. Our fingers intertwined, small sparks of heat living where our skin touched, as he drew me in a slow, elegant twirl. He was an excellent dancer, a natural leader; with each push he drew me where I was meant to go, and with a delicate tug of his fingers, ushered me back toward him. 

"You're quite graceful for a man that’s tired of dancing," I said, glancing around as though undisturbed by his presence. Faint lines creased near the corners of his lips, undetectable to those who were not seeking its sight. 

His hand pressed against my back as we lowered into our respective courtesies and bows. 

"Miss Granger, I -"

"Draco, _there_ you are!" 

The voice felt harsh to my ears as it was the last I wanted to hear. Astoria's fingers brushed against the navy fabric of Draco's shoulder, squeezing the curve of his muscle as her intrusive and forceful glare landed on me. I could sense his eyes lingering on my face, but with a deep curtsy, I excused myself as my feet rapidly moved to navigate me out of the crowded room and away from the heavy eyes of aristocracy.

I could feel my heart beating with a rapid, angry force in my chest. My fingers caressed the skin under my throat, feeling the hammering that pounded like winter’s rain, as I pressed my back against the wall, taking in the passing noble witches and wizards that floated with entitled ease in and out of the corridor. 

It took a mere moment before I understood the idiocy of my actions. What was I hoping for? This was not a night to formulate a silly infatuation with an Earl. I had been dancing! And enjoying it. 

And that's what I intended to do - the night was young, and my feet had some blood and life in them yet. 

I stumbled through room within room, each one preoccupied with laughing nobles that knew no cares in the world except pleasure. 

I pushed my weight against a door past the drawing room, and the sudden silence was the first indication I needed of a place to rest. The scent was second - a familiar muskiness that reminded me of earth and powder. Like woodchips and quills. Parchment. I stepped into the dark room, its only source a dimly lit fire that sputtered and coughed its last few breaths. My feet echoed with soft clacks as I approached the mantle of the magnanimous fireplace and my fingers gripped for the silver poker as I stabbed at the dying flames. With each prod, vivid sparks of orange burst into the air and the flame found new life to stifle as it grew in the wood. The heat caressed my face and arms, illustrating my success. I stepped back to survey the slightly brighter room as cold air filled my lungs with a deep inhale. 

As my enchanted eyes glanced in every direction, I saw books. Tomes, cracked leather, scrolls, bindings upon bindings of literature and knowledge and words waiting patiently for me to devour them. To inhale their knowledge and give purpose to them once more. I fought to climb onto the vast bookshelves, but opted, uncharacteristically, to maintain my ladylike composure as my fingers drew over the covers. 

Dust had gathered on every title my fingers touched, causing a wistful sigh to pass through my painted lips. 

What a waste it was to leave these books here. In a summer home. What about spring, and winter, and autumn? Who would keep them company then? 

I heard the sudden sound of a loud pop which echoed through the dark, silent, marble library, causing me to jump and relieve myself of several unladylike words.

"Enjoying the party?" the voice echoed in the grand space as footsteps grew louder as they approached me. His figure was shrouded in the shadows, but within a moment I could spot the shine of his silver hair glistening in the warm glow of the flames. 

"I am, actually," I said. Though a proper woman would feel embarrassed for their intrusive wandering of private chambers, I felt no such useless emotion. I had found my place, in the quietude of towering words. 

"Have you found any you like?" he approached me, his eyes wandering up the wall of books. I could feel his presence, his warmth as his sleeve nearly brushed against my bare arms. I felt my breath shorten and forced myself to swallow as I drew my gaze away from his pointed, winsome features, perfectly groomed hair, and elegant poised stance. The man breathed gentility; prim and proper was embedded in his veins. 

"I haven't had a chance to explore quite yet," I said, taking a sudden interest in a tome on 13th century stone craft. He gave me a peculiar glance and took a step toward the rest of the room before reaching into his coat pocket to withdraw his wand. With a quick incantation, hundreds of candles suddenly illuminated the space around us and I looked up, gawking at the room in its entirety.

It was breathtaking. And wasted. 

"Please, allow me to show you around." Draco offered his arm to me, and I stole a weary stare.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" My tone came out as more of a challenge than I'd anticipated, and, would I have been able, I’d have plucked the words from the air around us and drawn them back into myself. 

When he realized I would not accept the offer of his arm, he lowered it and turned to me. Though previously cold, aloof, and blatantly uncaring, his features now appeared softer amid the warm light and our quiet solitude. 

"I - don't know," he replied, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

"Oh?" I replied. "You don't know?"

"I shouldn't be," he reiterated. His eyes avoided mine, glancing around the room as though seeking answers in the centuries-old words that had been written, printed, and bound to act as ornaments in his palace. 

"Shouldn't be - kind to me?" 

Draco responded with a quiet shrug of his shoulder, his hazy eyes glossed and distant, as he seemed to consider me. My existence. My status, in his home, no doubt. 

I felt a sudden rush of illness as though he had reached in with his perfectly manicured, soft, unworking hands and gripped at my core, squeezing with his perpetual look of indifference.

"I did not mean to offend you earlier," his blue eyes rose toward me once more, taking the sight of me in as though hearing the crack of my heart at his prior words. I could feel my brows lift, a sorrowful stare lingering on his features. I took a step back, breaking the entrancement. 

"Ah, yes." 

I fought to steady the shake of my words as I turned to glance at the fire which had returned to its tired state as it prepared to take its last breath. 

"Yes, well," I continued, swallowing the tight lump that had formed in my throat, "I’m afraid you _have_ offended me, Sir. Twice, now, in fact."

His eyes regarded me curiously, watching, allowing me to speak and making no effort to protest.

"My _apologies_ ," I continued, "for confusing you on such matters - of why you should be kind to me. I shall do you the favour of never eliciting such confusion again. Thank you, My Lord - for such a _delightful_ party." 

With a swift turn of my heel, I turned and fled - from the party, from the palatial estate, and from him. 

As I ran toward the carriage, casting a thousand apologies to Ginny and feeling the warm stream of tears that spilled down my face, I made a promise to myself: I will never forget my stature nor seek the frivolities of aristocracy. 

Despite their wealth, and power, and land, and despite their beautiful parties of dancing and limitless gossip, they had _nothing_ they could offer me. 

»»-------------¤-------------««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed! It means the world to me!
> 
> \---  
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://syrengrey.tumblr.com/) and [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/syren.greyy)


	2. Chapter 2

»»-------------¤-------------««

**Then shuts the Door to her divine Majority**

"When will they arrive?" I asked, slightly breathless as I leaned over the open windowsill, letting my eyes hungrily take in the sights and commotion of London. The layer of fog had started to settle in, clinging obstinately to the streets and buildings as it cast a yellow glow when the shy sun was inclined to peek and withdraw every few moments. Each carriage that swept across the narrow, cobblestoned streets of the city looked a dark blur against the faded backdrop of mist.

"Harry said they'd arrive today, do you think they are delayed?" Ginny could hardly be bothered to sit up as she leaned against the pale rose divan, her feet dangling over the edge and her sparkling copper hair cast like a blanket over the pillow behind her head.

We had hardly arrived in London and I was itching to explore to beautiful cobble-stoned streets and lively shoppes with their expensive, worldly wares. I had not been in London since my early youth, and had it not been for Harry's invitation I likely would have gone another lifetime without breathing in the earthy air of the raucous and lively streets.

"I can't be certain. You let the Innkeep know that we are expecting them?" Ginny brought her hand to her forehead with a dramatic slap.

"I forgot!"

"It's alright, stay here - I will let them know."

I had been aching to explore the Rose and Crown Inn since our arrival. Had it not been for Harry's connection, I would have likely never stepped foot in such an ostentatious building, let alone slept there. Everything appeared gold and burgundy, like a gilded rose that refused to keep blooming, and the walls were gracefully adorned with oil paintings of flowers living in intricate golden frames that were four-inches too wide. If it had not been extraordinarily beautiful, it would have been overwhelming.

"What would I do without you, Hermione?"

"Die from loneliness and mental malaise, I'd imagine," I said as I pulled the door shut behind me.

I let myself take a breath as the quiet hallway brought me a moment of well-earned peace, a luxury that had not been afforded me since leaving Devon the day prior. With every mile that distanced me from my home, I felt the weight of my surmounting duties slip and fade off of my delicate shoulders.

Much had changed for me in the past several months.

The delights of the ball at Malfoy Estate were hardly affecting enough to earn a spot amidst my memories, yet my thoughts lingered on the beauty, the sense of unapologetic frivolity, and something else that I refused to acknowledge within me. Life had not granted me opportunity to relive such a thoughtlessness, as every day following that evening was full of labor and care to my family.

The Dress Shoppe had amounted significant business as, with a declaration from the Ministry, all Magical Clothiers were forced to ration their enchanted woven fabrics and create garments only for the Magical Army that continued to roam France and move into Belgium. Thus, all production was temporarily halted and the wealthy who had grown accustomed to donning their new and impressive garments for the season - and believed that God Himself would never deign to wear the same outfit twice - were forced to utilize their idle minds in order to acquire proper attire.

Granger's Dress Shoppe appeared to be an agreeable alternative. Though many of the dresses, tailcoats, and Top hats sold at my father's shop had been enchanted - whether with glamour spells to bring in the waist or fill an ample bosom, or with enhancement charms to strengthen specific magical properties - the shop was considered a muggle one and was thereby unmoved by Ministry decree. My parents, both Muggles, owned and operated the charming yet modest store in a small town in central Devon. And while the magical threads used by many witch or wizard dresscrafters were being rationed for fortification spells, I had developed a method of incorporating magic into the threads _after_ my mother and father had finished hand-sewing each item.

Thus, business was booming.

Unfortunately - or rather, if one were to ask solely me, it would be considered unfortunate - I was asked to leave the Dress Shoppe under the custody of my parents while I was to accompany Ginny to London. Harry had written letting her know that his regiment was being brought to London to attend several gatherings and improve visibility for the cause, and thus he had asked that Ginny meet him there.

Naturally, as all generous and benevolent friends ought to do, I agreed to accept free lodging, dining, and transportation exchange for my company.

It was to my parents unmasked relief that I accepted the journey since, as my mother had reminded me at every opportunity, I was nearly four and twenty and still had the misfortune of being without an adequate suitor and no potential prospects for marriage. Despite this looming dreadful curse that maidenhood had become, I was - at present moment - alone, save for my darling friend, and with a pocket full of coin and a thirst to explore every corner of London while my youth and freedom permitted.

My solid wooden heels hardly made a peep against the elegant ivory carpet that curved with the corridor. I brushed my fingertips over the thick wooden banister, feeling the cold, smooth texture with every descent of my step.

The ground floor was equally astounding in sight and smell, the scent of florals - fresh and sweet - mingled with the cold air that waded in as several footmen pushed open the front door to bring in luggages - each larger and more impressive than the last. It had only been a moment, after I asked the Innkeep to send word to Room 12 as soon as the soldiers arrive, that I heard a familiar word.

My head turned toward the sound, staring quite obviously at the footman who pushed open the door and brought an oversized dark-green leather chest.

"Send this to Lord Malfoy's room, floor 2."

"Which room?"

"The whole floor's his, Martin. You alright, Miss?"

"Er -" I responded, rather abashedly. I supposed I must have given them a fright as I stood there, with my jaw half open and hardly obscuring my curiosity. It did occur to me in that moment that Malfoy may very well have walk in without any notice.

I disappeared at once, my thin legs, encumbered by the weight of my gown, carrying me with haste back to the room.

"Did you tell them?" Ginny called out, still laying lackadaisically in her favorite spot in the room.

"I did," I responded as I crossed the room, then paced back toward the door.

"What is it?" Ginny asked, her thin, arched brows knitting with curiosity as she forced herself to sit up.

"It's nothing."

"You're an atrocious liar, Hermione," Ginny admonished.

"Are there to be any other guests at the events this weekend?"

"Yes, of course," Ginny replied, staring at me as though I had asked if the sky was blue. "It _is_ the social season for the upper classes, I'm certain there will be many people we do not yet know."

"I hadn't thought..."

"Who are you afraid of seeing?"

"No one," I bit back, my tone betraying my investment in the information, so much so that I found it difficult to remedy my sudden burst of nervousness. Suddenly, to my immediate relief, there was a knock on the door.

The soldiers were here.

»»-------------¤-------------««

"And with that, I ask that we raise our glasses to honor our brave soldiers - in their efforts to promote a peaceful union between Mother England and the Muggle world abroad!"

"Hear hear!"

I sat with a grin of happiness that consumed me at the sight of Harry with his red tailcoat, with golden tassels adorning his shoulder and a brightness in his face that seemed to light ever more fully as his eyes were cast upon Ginny's elegant beauty. The room was full with half a dozen soldiers - those selected to represent their regiment, and whom were of some notable birth. Despite this being an event hosted by the Ministry to celebrate the soldiers, the majority of the long banquet table appeared to be filled with elegantly dressed citizens with no affiliation to the military and no connection to the soldiers.

I hastily understood the intention of the dinner, while full of charisma and superficially displayed as an honorary event, was primarily an opportunity to garner support from the upper class. To encourage their involvement in enlisting - not from their own families, Heaven forbid, but to encourage their young tenants and their children to fight for the cause. It was vexatiously political. But I was happy to see Harry - and Ginny, together.

I sat at next to my dear friend Ginny while Harry sat opposite her. A man, perhaps several years older than I, name Baldwin Burkes sat across from me, though his eyes seemed to linger on Ginny who paid him no mind. I found myself making small talk with the man, a recent proprietor of a business near Diagon Alley, on a street in London many had apparently started to call "Knockturn Alley." As he regaled me about his travels and collection of fascinating and exceedingly rare artifacts sold in his shop the door to the Dining Room opened and two gentlemen stepped in.

I, among seemingly everyone else at the dinner, turned our heads to spy our new and excessively tardy visitors. I prayed no one could hear my gasp as my eyes landed on the pair.

One man was short, well-built, with dark-brown hair and hazel eyes. The other blonde, tall, thin but exceedingly aristocratic and elegant. I recognized both of them, and as Ginny noticed my suddenly ashen face, she gave me a curious look.

"Lord Draco Malfoy, and Mister Theodore Nott," the butler announced, and the pair stepped in.

Everyone rose to greet our guests and I could feel my face growing warm, a sensation due solely to the act of rising abruptly, I was certain.

Ever the host, Cornelius Fudge jumped up and rushed to shake the hands of his new guests. He glanced around the room with a thoughtful yet panicked glance as he observed all of the first ten seats were already taken with guests who had comfortably settled in. As customary, the higher the nobility, the closer their seat to the host - an etiquette seemingly impossible to abide by that evening, as evidenced by Fudge's drastically paling face.

I continued to peek at the pair who stood with patient poise as the portly little host with disheveled gray hair drummed his fingers on his lips in uneasy thought.

Blue eyes met mine, and I felt my heart quiver in my chest as the sudden gaze of Draco Malfoy landed on me. It was brief, yet long enough to feel as though the light in the room around me had gone out and all I could see was blue. Suddenly the gaze lifted, ascending over my head. His hand rose to point with a delicate curved finger toward me.

Blood rushed to my cheek. Pointing at _me_?

"You can not be certain, my dear Earl, those seats are preposterously far!"

The Earl turned toward Fudge and spoke a few words that I could not make out - though by my own admission I had grown too fearful to keep glancing so brazenly as they conversed.

Suddenly, however, I felt the towering sensation as Draco Malfoy's shadow graced me before he moved around the table to take a seat near the end. It was improper to have him sit there, I was sure of that. I was not particularly versed in upper class etiquette, though being middle class I was not fully illiterate, yet even _I_ knew that he must have _chosen_ to sit there. Had this been Muggle society, an Earl would have hardly faced the misfortune of sitting with someone so below his rank as me.

His friend, Theodore, sat himself next to me. I could smell the dense cologne that wafted off of him - though there was a faint scent of lilies as well. It was an odd combination of masculine and feminine, yet it was not unpleasant.

"How do you do, I am Theodore Nott." His eyes were slightly slanted and the sides of his face were covered in a neatly manicured curve of dark hair that followed the deep edge of his jawline.

I offered my hand, "I'm Hermione Granger, I believe we have met before."

While I hardly considered myself unforgettable, the look that Theodore offered indicated that he had not the briefest recollection of having ever met me.

"Oh? When would I have had the pleasure to meet a lovely lady such as yourself?"

"At the -"

"She was at the ball, Nott," the deep, clear voice of the Earl spoke, drawing the attention of both myself and Mr. Nott.

"Oh! Which ball?"

"At my estate," Malfoy answered. "Were you not, Miss Granger?"

I glanced up to meet his gaze, his handsome features emphasized by the slight quirk of his brow and the hint of a challenge in his tone.

I swallowed and nodded with a dignified and overly polite smile.

"I was there indeed, Mr. Malfoy. It was a beautiful affair," I replied, letting my soup spoon gently dangle from my grasp as I drew small circles into the cream of carrot, casting a trail of opaque milk to form against the warm yellow.

"You left with such haste, your friend was left without a carriage."

"I…"

"Did you fall ill? I was resigned to duck out early for the same reason, perhaps it was the veal," Theo offered.

"The food was fine," Malfoy replied, his gaze dropping from my own, though the thoughtfulness in his expression did not seem to fade.

I could hardly stand the tension between Malfoy and myself, though I did question whether the weighted air between us was of my own making. It was also growing apparent to me that the hazel gaze of Mister Theodore Nott would linger beats too long upon my décolleté. Thus I turned, with eager curiosity, toward my friend, Ginny, whose own eyes appeared preoccupied as they admired her dark-haired, uniform-clad fiancé.

"Was Ron not invited to attend?"

"Oh no, he was," she tilted her head toward mine, her voice falling to an intimate whisper, "But he couldn't make it; Lavender's expecting again."

" _Ginny!"_ I gasped, "Surely you cannot be making a May game of me."

"I'm telling the truth, I swear it."

"By, poor Lavender, this should be their fourth child in," my fingers covered my lips as I considered the days, "less than four years?"

Ginny nodded woefully, taking a quiet sip of her wine as I let out a low breath. Conversation was ringing around us with the gentle clang of metal cutlery on porcelain bowls.

"How cruel of me, my instincts should have been to congratulate them on their little blessing."

"I'm not certain Ron sees it as a blessing yet, the little ones do tend to bleed him quite freely and he has yet to secure proper employment."

"Poor Ron," I sighed. "And has he not heard of a protective spell or is he too proud to consider such a thing?"

Ginny turned toward me with a heavy sigh.

"Oh Hermione," Ginny said, "That sort of magic does not take on us Weasleys. With Harry stationed in every European country on the continent, why do you think we are waiting to wed?"

As I straightened in my seat, suddenly sobered by the news of Ron's overwhelming yet exhausting blessing, I felt the bearing gaze on me. Though when I glanced up, Draco Malfoy was conversing with Mr. Burkes and, despite Mr. Burkes being enraptured by Mr. Malfoy's words - though they were few and far between - the quiet intensity of Mr. Malfoy seemed lightened by unenthusiastic nods and encouraging vagueries.

"What plans have you in London?" Inquired Mr. Nott as the House Elves removed the hardly-eaten third courses in preparation for the next.

"Truth be told, I only just arrived yesterday and have not yet seen the city."

"This is your first time?" The way Mr. Nott asked the question, it might have been assumed that I told him I had never owned a carriage - which I, of course, had not.

"As a woman of age, yes, it is."

"My dear, what do you do with your time? Surely, embroidery, music, and art can only fulfill a wandering social mind so much, how have you managed to maintain your acquaintances without attending the events?"

"I - Well, I -"

I had hardly any reason to hesitate, for while I was not a young lady of high society, I had - in my challenging state - brought myself and my family up several social classes by my sheer magical ability and business acumen. These traits, however, were of little use to someone like Mr. Nott.

"She helps her father in their dress shoppe," Malfoy filled the void of sound.

Mr. Nott gave me a look that appeared as appalled as if I'd just slapped him. I could feel my features darken the colour of watered-down-wine, and I bit my lip to save myself the embarrassment of speaking further.

That was short-lived as I hotly turned to the blond Earl who, while a pristine example of gentlemanly wealth and status, revealed himself to be a most impertinent man.

"Pray, Lord Malfoy, what is it that occupies your time when you are not at balls and parties? I have always found the expenditure of time for nobility to be quite the mystery."

I hid my face in my goblet as I took a long drink, hiding the curve of my lips that fought to reveal a pleased smile at the frown that crossed his handsome features.

"Why, Mr. Malfoy does a great manner of important things!" Mr. Burkes cut in, coming to the desperate rescue of the Earl. "And his valued time will be even further divided upon marriage, is that not so? Say, has there been a date set for your marriage to Ms. Greengrass? She is the most agreeable young lady."

His intense blue gaze flew to mine and I felt my eyelids lift with a humiliated sort of horror that surely translated into a blushing of my cheeks. I glanced away at once. What a fool I had been.

" _Greengrass?_ " I heard the word as it passed my parted lips, but scarcely realized I was the speaker of it.

"There has not been a date set, no," Malfoy spoke the words quietly, his features souring further. He leaned into his chair, pushing long fingers against the plate as he drew them away from him as if they had an unpleasant smell. I could not help it as I looked between Malfoy and Nott, confusion blatant in my features.

"I apologize, I had presumed _you_ were courting Ms. Greengrass," I whispered to Mr. Nott. Though it was no business of mine, I suddenly felt very foolish indeed to learn of Mr. Malfoys engagement to the lady. She was utterly beautiful, of high rank, and undeniably, positively dreadful.

Mr. Nott leaned back with a hearty laugh, his palm pressing firmly on his stomach as he did so, as if my question were a ridiculous joke.

"My dear, _no_ ," he emphasized, and waved his hand. "You have never been more mistaken in your life!"

I turned away, seeking the safety of a conversation with Ginny.

»»-------------¤-------------««

As the events of the evening progressed, with the delicious eight courses appearing then subsequently disappearing after everyone had a taste or two of their fill, guests were ushered into the drawing room for a smoke and a drink. Having limited experience with either indulgence, I found myself standing awkwardly and lingering by the bookshelves as I preoccupied myself with light eavesdropping and the subtle art of appearing distracted. I had no desire to cling to Ginny, as she was happily mingling with the soldiers and dangling gracefully off Harry's arm. They made quite the handsome couple, and I could not help myself but smile as I imagined what a lovely little family they would inevitably make.

"Not the talker, hm?" Mr. Nott's voice startled me as I turned to see his glazed hazel eyes boring into my neckline without any hesitation or regard to decency.

"I haven't had the pleasure of making anyone's acquaintance," I replied, watching as my words seemed to bounce off of his ears and dissipate like the swirling smoke that filled the air. I felt my spine straighten as Nott's gaze drew down my dress to take the image of me in, making a prize pig of me with his unveiled hunger that made the thin hairs of my neck stand on end.

"I fear I was a fool for having forgotten such a beautiful face as yours," Nott spoke, taking a step toward me. "Though I'm sure to never forget you again, with your little dress - displaying such a becoming, _delightful_ form."

I felt my body instinctively step back and felt the panic flush into my face when my back pressed against the sturdy boundary of the bookshelf. Surely, the man would know his behavior was utterly untoward and exceptionally insulting. Undoubtedly, he was aware that he was in a room full of guests who would have the influence to cast his family into ruin at the suggestion that he was violating a lady in the presence of polite society. But I could smell the port on his breath. I could see the dazed gloss that coated his eyes as his movements swung with careless gracelessness that illustrated his level of inebriation.

"Mister - "

"Theodore," the voice was clear, deep, and full of authority.

Before I had the opportunity to beg for his disappearance or to firmly excuse myself from his alcohol-induced humiliation, the pale hand appeared on Mr. Nott's shoulder, and I could see the knuckles turn white as they squeezed and pulled Mr. Nott away from the few inches of space that was left between myself and my unwanted nightmare.

"I've just received an owl, and the Countess Lizette is requesting your company this evening," the words were spoken and I heard them, but everything seemed to stand still as the pale hair, crisp blue eyes, and debonair form of Mr. Malfoy appeared in my sight, speaking in a low but firm tone to Mr. Nott whose eyes suddenly widened, alight with intrigue.

I had hardly a chance to release the breath that was stuck in my lungs, too afraid to escape lest it have been mistaken for any form of invitation to Nott who had turned to leave, his coattails the last thing I saw before my vision was flooded by clear, concerned blue.

"Drink this," I felt the cold texture of glass press against my fingers and smelled pears. Sherry, golden and vibrant and smelling delicious.

"No," I said, my eyes lingering on the glimmering liquid, "I - I'm sorry, I mean, I would rather not lose my head tonight."

"It's laced with Pepper-Up Potion and you are trembling, madam." Mr. Malfoy assessed my pallid appearance and gave me a moment of free will before he reached back for the glass, "If you insist -"

I drew the glass back toward me, the prospect of peppering-up too seductive to refuse as I brought the liquid to my lips and took a hearty gulp. The exceptionally sweet, buttery fluid coated my tongue and dripped down into my soul with its ripe fruit and promise of relaxation.

The moment of drink gave me chance to take in the unusual face of Draco Malfoy whose sharp, handsome features seemed tainted with a look of interest that I had not yet seen on him, given his propensity to appear as cold and aloof as a freshly carved marble bust. He ran his fingers through the silver-blonde strands as he averted his gaze from my wandering eyes.

As the glass left my lips, I pressed my hand against my ribcage, my trembling fingers slowly easing against the beautifully adorned bones that made up my corset as the magic made its way through me. I did not quite feel peppered-up in any discernible manner, yet I felt the blood rush to my cheeks again and heat course through the surface of my skin as I felt the smoky air around me, covering me like a blanket and threatening to swallow me into its hypnotizing swirls of recreational hedonism.

I dropped my gaze into my empty glass, anxious that it was not the potion but his doting attention that brought life to me.

"Do not think me forward, madam, but I would like to escort you to the balcony for air," he said, noticing my palm hardly moving with adequate breaths as it lay resting against my ribs.

 _Air_.

Dear God, my lungs cried for joy at the prospect, the thick air of the drawing room with its swirling magical smoke that filled the smokers with feelings of happy bliss seemed to coat my windpipe and prevent me from drawing in a full breath.

His keen gaze must have understood my sudden and overwhelming approval as, without hesitation, he offered his arm before leading the way toward seclusion and fresh air.

»»-------------¤-------------««

My fingers grasped at the stone baluster as my chest rose with a deep breath, the anxiety of Mr. Nott's inappropriate approach gradually releasing with each exhale. The sky was a rich navy, its colour accented with each passing cloud that appeared to float carelessly through the evening earth and lingered before the moon, hiding her bright and elusive face in a series of puffy, white blurs until they made leave and the next cloud made its journey toward her. The air felt crisp against my bare skin, but I relished in the reminder that I was outside, away from the nonsense of chatter and false flattery.

"Is your friend always such an unlicked cub?" I asked, my tone sharp enough to disarm Mr. Malfoy who cast a look of unbridled amusement and surprise toward me.

"Theodore has been one to appreciate elegant, beautiful ladies," Malfoy said, his eyes wandering over the barely visible horizon of manicured trees and pristine gardens. My chest tightened at his words, though I briefly questioned their authenticity - both the speaker and the essence of his speech appearing far too forgiving to be cast toward a lady like me - yet I chose to let the sound of his voice linger in my mind before I straightened to turn toward him.

"As do you, it seems," I said. His eyes widened briefly with a slight quirk of his brow before I continued my speech. "I believe I have yet to congratulate you on your engagement to Ms. Greengrass, my Lord."

"Ah, yes," he replied, turning away once more. With a light wave of his hand he brushed the weight of my formality away as he said, "Draco would suffice."

It was silly, the way my body responded to him. It was not entirely unheard of for a gentleman to find his company familiar enough to allow the use of his birth name, and yet I had not expected to have reached that form of familiarity with a man of such... I did not know what it was. It was not his status that appealed him to me. Nor was it his kindness, seeing as how he had cast several offenses toward me at first opportunity. I could not understand. And yet, I could feel the heat of a blush rise to my face and suffuse through my cheeks, casting the warm glow against the cold air around me at his request.

"Ms. Greengrass and I have been betrothed since we were born," he spoke, the words holding very little emotion as he ran his fingers over the stone railing, idly preoccupying himself amid his speech, "I did not have a choice in the matter."

"Oh," I replied. "You must think it a smart match, though?"

I felt the regret as the words passed my lips. The tightness in his brow bone as his forehead creased and the light purse of his curved lips indicated all the answer I needed but was not entitled to. Upon realizing that he had drawn into a quiet moment of introspection, he turned toward me with the cover of polite indifference set upon him.

"Of course," he said. "My apologies, miss, I did not mean to sound at all unhappy. Ms. Greengrass is a handsome woman and an agreeable match for my family."

"I should apologize, I did not mean -"

"Are you feeling better? I should escort you back inside."

"I-"

Before I had the opportunity to reply, the sudden wooshing sound of feathers and wind struck us both as a dark figure flew toward me. With a plop, a heavy parchment envelope fell at my feet as the dark brown owl that had carried it perched itself on the stone baluster.

Draco bent to retrieve it and I cast my glance between the bird and the man as he pressed the envelope to my well-chilled hands.

"It's addressed to you," he said, his voice and face still and calm as the day I had first laid eyes him.

_Little dove,_

_Do not panic at my coming words, for all is well for the time being._

_Your father has taken ill. He has contracted Cerebrumous Spattergroit._

"Spatter - Oh no," I gasped, my hand rising to cover my parted lips as dread coated my muscles and seeped into my heart.

_The healers say the condition may worsen if we cannot procure a tincture._

_Please know I do not write to frighten you, and pray that you may meet many agreeable suitors and new friends in London._

_If you by chance are able to procure 6 Ashwinder Eggs or 2 Graphorn Horns, I may be able to brew the tincture in a week's time._

_Do not worry, my little dove. God is with us._

_All my love,_

_Mama_

"Ashwinder eggs... Graphorn Horn?" My strained voice spoke the words aloud as my stomach twisted inside of me. "Those are - _hundreds_ of galleons - exceptionally rare -"

I scarcely noticed that Draco Malfoy had been hovering over my shoulder, reading the words that were meant solely for me, but in the moment I cared not as I felt tears stream down my face and blur my horror-filled eyes. Cerebrumous Spattergroit was an uncommon and debilitating disease of the mind and would often produce extensive permanent memory loss without proper timely treatment, yet the ingredients necessary to produce such an effective tincture required immense fortune and connection. I could feel my shoulders shaking as the blue gaze washed over me.

"I have to go home," I murmured into my hand, crying helplessly as I felt the sudden urge to scream. What on earth was I even doing here?

"Do you have a carriage, or - "

"Only what Harry paid for - I cannot leave Ginny. I would take a broom if I could, but I cannot fly. Oh God, _papa_ ," I turned away from Mr. Malfoy and felt my body quiver with heavy sobs.

"Miss Granger, you may use my carriage. I will escort you to it now, it is guided by Thestrals and if you are so amenable they may be able to fly you home within several hours."

I turned with such speed I felt myself grow dizzy, my long brown curls brushing against the chest of Mr. Malfoy as he looked down at me with a clear expression of concern. I reached for him, desperate, as my fingers clutched at the collars of his jacket, my eyes stained red and sparkling with a constant stream of pained tears as I studied his features.

Our eyes met.

His, open and warm, coaxing me in with a sense of comfort and loneliness that made my already aching heart squeeze with an additional pang.

Mine, seeking and pouring gratitude without words as I held onto him, the warmth of his chest soothing my cold and quivering hands.

I had never been so close to a strange man and I could feel the Earth's response in its tranquility, save for the quiet chirping of crickets and the calm hooting of the owl as it awaited my response. I had none for it.

Instead, I spoke to the Earl. My Lord. Mr. Malfoy.

_Draco._

"Thank you," I whispered, my fingers dropping their grip as he gave me a quiet nod.

It wasn't until I was sitting alone in his carriage as the thestrals flew over the sleeping streets of London that I let out a sigh. I touched the top of my hand, still seemingly warm from where his lips had graced it as he escorted me into the coach. I turned the moment over in my mind as I considered whether what I had seen was true. Ever the gentlemen, and in possession of an enviable quiet dignity, he held my hand as he drew me into the warmth of the carriage. And as we said our farewell, I swore saw it: within the guarded blue gaze of Draco Malfoy was yearning.

»»-------------¤-------------««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never expected to write anything like this, and it came on a whim, but I am completely enamored with the era and the story and the characters.  
> So **thank you,** for giving this story life, and for giving me more purpose.  
> Please continue to share your thoughts and encouragement in reviews, it makes everything better.  
> Thank you,  
> Syren  
> \---  
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://syrengrey.tumblr.com/) and [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/syren.greyy)


	3. Chapter 3

»»-------------¤-------------««

**Unmoved an Emperor be kneeling**

No woman of obstinate resolve cares to admit the limitation of her abilities, least of all in the growing salience of one’s own mortality. The face of death, with his joy-draining grin and empty eyes devoid of light, beckons one into the dark tunnel of the afterlife. He stares at one's face and dares one to attempt recourse against the inevitable — as he sits coolly without invitation or notice, awaiting the collection of the soul as recompense for — what? Merely living?

No, I should think no person would enjoy that. It is rather the burden of those still alive. 

Had I been anyone else’s daughter, perhaps I should have thrown my arms up and allowed a graceful descent into despair. As it were, I care nought for grace but insist that my journey toward sorrow be made kicking and screaming. Thus, I tried. I fought death, without the necessitated tools nor the ability. I did as I could, laboriously lording over the cauldron. 

The edge of my blade struck with care as it pierced the exoskeleton of the Crying Beetle, causing its spindly black legs to shake with a tremor as a thick moss-green fluid oozed from the punctured belly. I applied pressure to the thorax of the now-deceased insect, allowing more of the fluid to collect in a thick glob before I scraped it into my bubbling cauldron. I had grown exceedingly familiar with this brew, having crafted it each morn since I’d arrived home from London. 

There was no doubt that the tincture was lacking — a mere placeholder until I was able to locate the ingredients that would permeate my father’s mind and bring his animated spirit back to me. I fought frequently not to dwell in my sorrow which oft lingered over me like a tempestuous cloud, threatening to pour and ruin my day at a moment's notice. It was all I could do to keep sane. Thus, I kept brewing the same potion and prayed it slowed the decay of my father’s mind. 

I knew, as I added the final ingredient and as the raging wisps of grey morphed from the scent of wet mud to one of toasted barley, that it was finished. 

I lifted the ladle and poured the murky brown slosh into a simple goblet as I had done the day before, and the day before that. 

He swallowed the liquid with little protest as words had started to evade him. Perhaps that was what ached the most. Though my father was not known for his unceasing joy or overwhelming kindness, he was — to me, at the very least — brilliant. A natural conversationalist and philosopher, entertaining more than a dozen different viewpoints on any given topic merely for the sake of thoroughness. 

It was he that instilled a voracious thirst for knowledge in me; while my mother bequeathed to me her fiery spirit. Or that, at least, was the frequent playful row betwixt them at the breakfast table. Now, as his lips parted to accept the doubtlessly disgusting tincture, there appeared to be little recalcitrance left in him. No words to protest as the disease ceaselessly consumed him, leaving a vestige of his former self. 

I did not let him see my tears, though many. 

My chest swelled with a deep breath as I released it, allowing myself a brief moment to centre amid the swirling stream of emotions that lingered below the thinly veiled guise of normalcy. It was over my crafts table, as I stood present, where I would allow my shoulders to heave and vision to grow blurred until my senses returned to me and I reminded myself there was no time for mourning.

Ribbons hung in a neat line near my head, cascading in brilliant shades and countless hues. They reminded me of dried flowers hung within the Apothecary shoppe, like the fragrant vines of a botanist’s greenhouse. This was my greenhouse; my place of new life and beauty — as my fingers drifted over the thin shimmering fabric of silk or the coarse friction of velvet, here was my domain for creation. And create I did, numerous dresses after weeks of overwhelming demand from the Magical community. 

Money was pouring in as though Plutus himself had heard my prayers and answered them tenfold. Despite my ever-growing funds, I had been unable to acquire the needed ingredients as no Apothecary nor Potioncrafters had the Graphorn Horn nor the Ashwinder eggs in stores. Still, perhaps with more money and more connection, Fate would cast her selective gaze upon me. 

The twinkling sound of chimes rang throughout the room, alerting me of a customer passing through the barrier. 

“Mum, could you please get that?” 

My mother, a slight and delicate woman with hawkish eyes and deep lines near her mouth — tokens from the years of laughter she and my father had shared — appeared from her sewing room and strode toward the entrance as I continued my work. The ring was a small measure of security as the shoppe served as both business and abode. Despite our growing wealth and increasing ability to purchase an estate (by God, even uttering such words would have my former self cast _such_ a glare of doubt at the unlikeliest of prospects), every coin earned was kept safely stowed and unspent. 

This was home, and with the rare exception of a social event or need to visit the market, I seldom left. 

A playful hum buzzed against my closed lips as my wand cast a dim lilac glamour charm into the vest I’d been working, endowing the wearer with rather well-defined, though utterly illusive, pectorals. 

“Hermione dear, this man said he would like to purchase a dress for his mother,” my mum said. 

I glanced up from my few moments of concentration and nearly dropped my wand as the towering form of Draco Malfoy came into my vision. 

“My — Lord!” 

I bowed my head and dropped into a curtsy while my nose and ears grew warm. My mother gave him a quizzical look before lowering her own head. 

“Mother, this is Lord Draco Malfoy, Earl of Wiltshire. I apologize, Sir, my mother does not know Magical society.” 

Malfoy, who had stood still as stone during my quivering speech, turned toward my mother with a polite smile and nod of his own. The appearance of his smile forced a stutter of my heart, as his normally pinched lips — oft set upon in such manner of disinterest, lack of impression, and otherwise woefully privileged patrician problems — altered his features entirely as they rose into a smile. It was as if a light had sparked in his eyes as he glanced from my mother to me, and I instinctively dropped my gaze in an effort to save myself from the humiliation of being caught in a lingering stare. 

“Mrs Granger, it is my pleasure,” he lifted my mother’s hand to his lips and turned his attentions toward me. I simultaneously cursed the large workspace between us while also thanking it for allowing me to maintain a safe distance. 

“Why are you here?” 

The air appeared drained from the room at my utterance — though impolite, it expressed my simple curiosity. Still, it did not prevent my mother from gasping and issuing excessive apologies to the handsome nobleman who remained ever-poised, with his crisp navy tailcoat, neatly swept-back blond hair, and an abundant air of ease, as if unphased by my jarring statement or appearance. 

It had been slowly dawning on me how unkempt I must have looked, as I’d made no attempt at beauty or feminine elegance while labouring over the cauldron or hovering over my father.

“A dress for your mother’s birthday, you said, my dear Earl?” 

With a silent nod, Malfoy placed several packages he’d been cradling under his arm onto the workbench before his hand disappeared into his coat-pocket. I wondered whether his assistant or coachman was waiting outside, surely someone would have assisted a man of such means with carrying his purchases. 

“These,” he said, withdrawing his hand to reveal a small scroll. His voice was soft as he closed the distance between us, “are her measurements and any notes you may need to aid you in crafting it.”

I may have jumped as his thumb brushed against mine, his skin warm and electric as we collided in the smallest of ways. 

“Why trust _us_ with this? How did you even manage to find a muggle shop?” 

“ _Hermione Jean Granger!_ ” 

My mother could not help the opportunity to chastise, especially given that, to her, I was not only casting myself as a bitter woman with no knowledge of decorum, I was doing so in the presence of a man. A man I was woefully without.

“You are aware of the recent rations the Ministry has placed on dress crafters,” the earl responded. His pale blue gaze sparkled with amusement at my mother’s generous chastisement. 

“Yes, but a man of your means — surely you would be able to commission a dress like this.”

I peered at the scroll. It was all so simple, exceedingly elegant and full of well-chosen enchantments to ensure beauty and magical fortification — and yet, something he could have easily paid one of his many dress-crafters. He could have procured it in the finest French satin _from France_ had he so chosen. 

“My Lord, please do not mind our dear Miss Granger, she is — she is unwell given her father’s recent illness. She does not know what she says. She’d be happy to assist.” 

I cast a near-invisible glare toward my mother, wary to earn her ire further. 

“When might you need the dress?” My mother asked, her honeyed tone a stark contrast against the acidic admonishment she had cast upon me moments prior. 

“Would three weeks time suffice?” 

“That’s —”

“Perfect,” my mother butted in. 

This time I was unable to withhold my glare, which she effortlessly ignored before turning to offer the Earl some tea or biscuits. 

“I was rather wondering if Miss Granger would accompany me on a walk.”

The request caused both my mother and I to halt all action and stare at the man whose features plainly splayed his sincerity. 

“A _walk_?”

“Of course she would! Hermione, I shall start the design. Gather your cloak — rather brisk at this hour!” 

I did not know where my mind went — perhaps it stayed in the shop struck in a frozen state of shock at the Earl’s request — but as I came to, my cloak was on my shoulders and my feet were leading me out the door with the Earl of Wiltshire.

»»-------------¤-------------««

I should have liked well enough to be a lady of poise and cool countenance as the Earl and I began our, to what still remained to me, rather perplexing walk. Had one inquired about my general attitudes regarding the Earl and everything he represented several months prior, I would have assiduously assured that my fingers would not tremble _in the least_ at his presence, nor my rather loquacious tongue find itself numbed and unmoving. 

And yet, as we strolled idly under early blooming cherry blossoms that littered the streets with their diminutive little flowers sprinkling the earth like snow at every passing breeze, I discovered a warm anxious thrill ran through my veins. It charted its course through my body with a sense of uncontrolled intrigue. 

These nerves may have intimated my interest in the Earl, had I allowed even a hint of the chaos that dwelt within to rise to the surface. 

“How is your father?” 

It appeared the Earl, too, had difficulty finding his voice, as this was his first phrase to me once we had parted from my mother and started on our course. 

“Ah,” he said, perhaps a more astute man than I would have presumed, as with one glance at my quickly frowning face, he sought desperately for another subject. “And your friend — Ms Weasley, was it?” 

“She is well,” I smiled politely, “She is to wed, but they’ve yet to set a date. I’m hopeful it will be soon, she’s growing rather impatient.” 

“Indeed,” he said before his cool blue gaze drifted over me and took in the quiet cobbled streets of Muggle Devon, with the distant clatter of horseshoes and shouts of fishermen celebrating their recently captured dinners. To our left was the ocean with sparkling azure waves that drifted lazily under the hazy autumn sky. 

The silence between us lingered like a dense mist, sinking in my lungs and placing pressure on any future words my mind considered speaking. He glanced at me, not but three times, his lips parting with thought but silence remained.

“Thank you,” I said finally, my breath releasing in a lighter gust than it had entered. “I owe you my gratitude for lending me your carriage.” 

“It’s nothing,” he said, his eyes wandering over the waters. I would have sworn they were the same hue of cool, calm waves of unknown and entrancing depth. 

“You aided me in seeing my ill father. You allowed me to start his care days early, and see him while he was still…” 

My words trailed as my throat grew dense. _While he was still himself,_ I sought to say. Malfoy’s nod showed his understanding of the matter.

“Why are you here, Mr Malfoy?” I asked, my voice rather small.

“I was in town, purchasing Astoria’s favourite lily perfume from Caster’s Row…” 

The next few words he spoke fell on deaf ears as my mind buzzed with thought, settling like a bee from one flowr’ing conclusion to another. Lily perfume. I recognized the familiarity immediately as my heart sank into my chest at my budding awareness. 

Though I knew very little — nay, almost nothing — about magical aristocracy, I questioned the likelihood that both Mr Theodore Nott and Ms Astoria Greengrass would have purchased and worn the same lily perfume — and yet I recalled Mr Nott smelling of the flower which was both rare and pungent in its scent.

I attempted with futility to quiet the festering image of the pair together — skin on skin — as her fragrance seeped onto his bare flesh. What a scandal it would be, but more than that, what a terror for Mr Malfoy to endure. 

“Is something the matter?” 

I had to give credit to the Earl, for he had a keen ability to read my face and all the horror I’d attempted to muffle under an indifferent countenance. 

It was panic, next, that I experienced. And, in my panic, as I am prone to do, I blurted what I now understand was an attempt to evade both the Earl and my knowledge of the scandal. I sought to flee to the safe confines of my workstation and home.

What a fool I was as I spoke:

“Sir, is it true your father donated money to the Purist cause?” 

It was his turn to grow pale, his expression matching mine with an almost humorous resemblance. 

“Excuse me?” 

I had stung him, there was no doubting that.

“I — I was only wondering,” I stammered. He glanced at me, his previously relaxed features now strained as he sought to understand my sudden gibing words.

“Were you raised in England your whole life?” 

It was my turn to be baffled by his inquiry as I turned my head with a snap, a brow raised toward my hairline. 

“I understand that you are, indeed, from Britain, but you lack no English humility in your discourse — have no sense of embarrassment for putting those around you in an awkward bind. It is quite foreign.” 

“Foreign?” I could not make sense of his words. “But I _am_ English!” 

My ears had grown pink, my nose felt hot, and it took a moment to recognize that we had both stopped our idle stroll and were now facing one another with eyes locked and tension held like a quivering string between us. 

“Yes, I said that,” he responded, his tone a sort of icy that could have cooled a summer’s lake. 

“What — because I’m Muggleborn, I’m suddenly from a different land entirely?”

“No —”

“Are you calling me rude, Sir? And masking it by calling me ‘foreign’ instead?” 

“ _Exotic,_ if you so hate the word foreign. Am I mistaken, then? Or did you ask me about my father to prod at me? Surely, a woman of your intelligence would know you cast a sharp jab, Miss. And I dare presume you mean to hurt me with your words. Or am I wrong? Please, tell me I am, for I so wish to be.” 

“I…” 

How could I have corrected the man, for was that not precisely what I'd done? Panicked and struck hard. 

Yet, I had not been the first to strike, as I recalled his words to me the evening of the party. Recalled the sharp pain I’d felt in my chest as my heart withered at his words.

Perhaps we were too similar. Too cold to the opposite sex and quick to cast cruelties. Perhaps we were the same, after all, and would merely do better admiring one another from afar — wondering silently how the other was faring and which curiosities lingered in their mind, passing across glimmering halls like two ships in the night.

My soul shattered at the thought, though I remained still as marble while words — again — fled me, too afraid to throw another painful stone at him.

“You are so hasty, madam, to cast me into the fire as an avaricious spirit in search of only fortune and blood purity, yet it is _you_ that has placed me in a box of your expectations and refused to see any other part of me.” 

The tips of his lips had grown pale against the tension as he glowered at me, his brows creased with irritation yet his eyes belying another emotion entirely. My heart thrust so hard in my chest I thought I might faint from the force, yet it was not my aching heart that pierced through me most, rather my mind as I understood with every passing of his breath that he was right. 

“I was a fool,” I pleaded. “I was hasty with my speech, I’m so sorry.” 

His jaw twitched, and I watched as he released the tension he’d held before his stormy blue gaze relaxed infinitesimally. Whatever walls had been lowered in our prior encounter, they were now up, reinforced with guards, sentinels, and trebuchets to buffer any attempt at breaching them. 

I could see it in the rest of his walk, as his previously swaying hands were now held tightly behind his back, and his curious eyes which had washed over my face and openly assessed (and understood!) me now settled on the cracks of the road and the thin branches of the cherry trees. 

Ever the gentleman, and despite every movement of his indicating wanting to do otherwise, he stayed with me until we returned to my father’s shoppe. 

It was then — when the door shut behind me, when the familiar chime rang to alert my mother, when her expectant and joyous face grew crestfallen at my own sombre one, it was then that I burst into tears. 

It was as though my heart could bear no more, but I was foolishly mistaken as I approached my workbench and saw that the several parcels of Mr Malfoy’s had vanished — all but one.

 _For Ms Granger_ , it read on the small brown package that remained.

My body shook with endless sobs and my cries burst into wails as I opened the parcel and, with trembling pale fingers, I discovered its contents: 4 Graphorn Horns and 12 Ashwinder Eggs _._  
  


»»-------------¤-------------««

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader,
> 
> I don't know how to begin expressing my gratitude at your interest. I didn't realize just how much I'd love writing a Regency AU - I've actually been studying the language a bit (I hope it shows). I'm having so much fun writing this fic.
> 
> Please, let me know what you think. How are you liking the story, the writing? Leave a comment and it'll bring me such joy.
> 
> All my love,  
> S  
> \---  
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	4. Chapter 4

»»-------------¤-------------««

**I've known her from an ample nation Choose One**

My knuckles rapped against the towering doors of Malfoy Manor. Though I had presumed the help would be alerted upon my arrival, the hard wood against hand felt inexplicably soothing as an equal dose of anxious nerves were displaced into each sharp knock that rang against the door.

The perfectly oiled hinges dared not creak as the door gently opened and I caught a glimpse of the magnanimous estate through a cracked sliver. 

My gaze drifted down to the globular shining skull of the House Elf that greeted me. Even he, a creature born into servitude, was dressed pristinely in a gown of silver and black. Flopping flaps of skin hung from the sides of his head, hardly covered by the sparse hairs that sprung at the edges of his jaw. They were neatly combed in spiralling curls and framed the grimace that formed on his lips. The sight of him was rare to me, as I had only seen House Elves on the few occasions I was called upon to attend social gatherings or to take measurements of wealthy wives and sisters. 

The elf rose a brow at me, his features rather taut and expectant.

“Good morning, Miss…?”

“Granger,” I replied, “I am here to see D—“

 _Draco_. The name, masculine and alluring. A name that once spoken or thought of echoed in my mind with such force as to dismiss all other thoughts. 

The name which appeared in the barren, dry, deserted garden of my thoughts. Which clung its roots into the depths of my mind and sprouted. Took hold of my fantasies and blossomed into ever fragrant a flower as to instil divine yearning. Its scent an intoxication set to render me useless without its fill. It’s pollen potent as it planted several dozen more thoughts of him.

Oft I sought for winter, if only for a respite that my soul may breathe and allow itself a chance to trim the growing feelings and fantasies of him which ran wild. 

Oft I sought for the quietude of cold, in desperate efforts to silence the nagging need that burnt my heart and threatened to overtake my very being.

It was not winter. There was no coldness for him, only warmth and light and growth.

“I am here to see Lord Malfoy. I have a package he commissioned a fortnight ago.”

“Ah, yes, he is expecting you then. Please do come in.”

As I stood before the walls of his estate, knowing only that he dwelt inside, my chest swelled like an ascending hill rising to meet the morning sun.

I had neither heart nor nerve to report that he was not in fact expecting me. The man made no efforts to speak to me since the day he had visited my family’s shoppe. Though to be certain I had neither afforded him the opportunity nor given him leave to do so, as I had cast painful remarks at him despite his kindness toward me.

It was a surprise to even me that my heart beat for the man.

Surely he abhorred me. I abhorred myself as I recalled the exchange. 

The House Elf guided me toward the study as I carefully levitated the gown Mr Malfoy had commissioned for his mother’s birthday. The corridors were empty, the only sounds living in the walls at present were the clacking of my heels and the occasional gasp of awe as I took in the sights of the manor by the grace of daylight.

There were no glittering jewels or sparkling glasses of champagne to add bursts of beauty to the space I had encountered at the ball, yet the serenity of the grounds as the sun spilt through luscious half-opened curtains made me giddy like a child.

I hardly processed the words of the House Elf telling me this was where Lord Malfoy would prefer to meet me. I was far too enticed by the personal collection of the Earl’s books and writing tools. The walls were dark. Nearly every inch was covered in brown, green, and black leatherbound books with their spines scratched and dented from ages of use. In the few inches of space that had a lapse of books, there were dozens of quills, scrolls, inks, and wax seals to feed both the heart of reader and writer. 

I gazed upon the selection of the books nearest to his desk - _literature_. First editions of books with hundreds of years to their names. Dante Alighieri’s _Inferno_ , Horacio Freiss’ _The Mystical Medusa_ , Thomas Dekker’s _Old Fortunatus_ were all sitting on shelves with restorative magic buzzing like the enchanting words that lived inside. Oh to slip into their pages and buzz alike! To dwell in the memories of the authors and live another tale entirely. 

I must have paled as all the blood rushed inward, fueling the ever-growing monster of need and leaving only a marble likeness of my form in my stead. 

“You may rest your item on the divan if you prefer, Miss.”

“Ah, yes.” 

I had nearly forgotten what had brought me to such an estate. With a flick of my wand, the gown drifted to the plush green divan and lowered gracefully as if it were a woman taking rest.

A loud bell rang and in a near-instant the House Elf that hovered at the door jumped to action, springing toward the Earl’s desk to reach its petite form toward a, what I considered, hideous six-inch-tall golden ear. I recognized it from the papers as a communication device called the Herophone, meant to speak through rooms without the use of Floo (which had an unattractive quality of staining one’s fireplaces green after several uses). It halted its screeching at the servant’s touch.

“Yes, My Lord?”

“Haymid,” the Earl spoke. 

I had no comprehension of why my fingers started to tremble at the sound of his voice which, though outwardly calm, seemed to pierce the Herophone with a sharp edge.

“Please come and help Miss Greengrass transport her items to her carriage.”

Miss Greengrass. I had fought hard to forget the name and her associations with him (or, at the least, that is what I have told myself — since it had been easy to forget her involvement as my mind arduously hummed the tune of Draco). To be certain, I had allowed myself to dive quite so far into foolishness that I was threatened to drown in it: Miss Greengrass, his betrothed. Oh, but the thought of it — it was displeasing. So displeasing that I had found myself in ready denial of its existence. 

I had been stricken down for my silliness. This was my recompense for visiting the Earl without prior arrangement, save for the promise of delivering the dress he had commissioned. This was my doing — and as I stood, my heart in my stomach and my thoughts racing at the remembrance of the Earl’s attachment to this other woman, this _Miss Greengrass_ , I began to see my follies (though I so wished to remain ignorant of them — and her!). 

“Right away, Sir,” the elf responded, glancing at me with a dismissive glance. “There is a Miss Granger here to see you with your commissioned item. I have left her in the study.”

“Miss — _Really?_ Right. Yes, I’ll be right there.”

Without another word, the House Elf disappeared with a pop. I ran my palms anxiously over my dress. I had dressed for him in white with transparent sleeves. I had sewed small lilac ribbons at the neckline and hem and pulled my hair back at the crown, allowing wispy strands of curls to fall around my temple and ear. I had sought to embody the delicate beauties that adorned his walls, ethereal and sweet. In the same moment, I felt myself become undone and forgotten. What a silly prospect. Why had I come? What had I hoped in appearing in front of the man with nothing but his delivery and a mind full of adulation? 

Gods, my stomach felt so tight in my body at seeing him again. I did not know how to behave.

I was startled, then, when I heard another pop. It was not in this room.

The golden ear vibrated as sounds flowed freely from it.

“Ah, thank you Haymid.” It was the Earl that spoke, though he was nowhere near me. “Those valises to the carriage please, and there are some chests here as well.”

“Is this all necessary?” The sound of a woman asked. I stared horrified at the large ear that continued to carry words not meant for my hearing.

“Of course, it is. These are your belongings. How else will they be removed?”

“Draco,” she sighed. The sound was elegant, even to me; full of feminine dreaminess and persuasion. “Do you _really_ wish me to go?”

“Please, Astoria, leave while there remains some dignity among us.”

“Dignity? Yes, you and your _dignity_. You and your propriety, and your books, and your esteemed sense of _morality._ You act as if you are entirely innocent, yet you have flung me into the arms of another!”

Though I had leaned in with a curious ear and an even-curiouser mind, I was reminded of my precarious circumstances. I had not meant to be hearing any of this! 

I crossed the room with haste to press my hand against the golden ear and recoiled with a sharp gasp as it stung at my fingers with a scorching burn. I cursed the mechanism and whatever privacy magic was cast on it — I was merely attempting to _respect_ their privacy, not invade it!

“You dare reproach me? Really? Are you blaming _me_ for your affair? By Merlin, Astoria, I was aware your fidelity would be too much to ask for but to betray me with my best friend of all people! He is at risk of losing everything upon his aunt’s learning of it. And to think of what we have lost...”

“Theodore can look after himself — “

“With what money? Everything he has is handed to him, as is the same for you — and me, for that matter. You can’t be so single-minded. Yes, it is necessary. I cannot bear to have you, Astoria.”

“You cannot bear to have me? You have never wanted me. You have been indifferent toward me my entire life, Draco! At least with Theo — “

“Go to him, then. We are finished.” 

“Even still, you cast me aside — we have been engaged since we were little!”

“Yes. Our parents may be disappointed in our fate, and to that, I can acknowledge my pain for them.”

I heard her respond with a dark laugh.

“Pain! What do you know of pain, Mr Malfoy? You have no heart at all!”

Despite her harsh words cast with little consideration, he continued: 

“Please provide my condolences. I have no wish nor strength to face them.”

With a loud pop, I jumped again, my heart pounding a thousand beats a moment in my throat. 

I turned, frozen, as both doorknob and door to Mr Malfoy’s study moved.

I could only envision the sight of me, wide-eyed and frozen in place near his desk, my hands wrapped around my form as if cradling me from terror and anxiety. I could not move as the red-faced Earl stepped through the doorway. His hands shakenly raked his hair back; his posture was stiff as a wooden board as he glanced up to find me standing — rather, quivering— near the Herophone.

“Miss Granger,” he spoke softly, the creases in the corners of his eyes softened for a mere moment. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

His gaze drifted over my form with quiet contemplation and, despite his kind words, I could sense the guardedness in his countenance. I could sense the distance with which he gazed at me.

Yet a brief moment of intimacy lived between us. Was he — happy? To see _me_? I dared not fantasize about such a heart-warming concept, yet I could see it in the way his eyes warmed at the sight of me. That was until he saw the sizeable golden ear still buzzing with life. 

The Earl’s face lit with a dawning realization, his eyes widening until I could see the entirety of the blue orbs. 

He crossed without a word and pressed his fingertips to the contraption, causing the ear to fall on its string, lifeless and disabled.

All warmth in his features shattered like glass.

With a sharp turn, he fixed me with a tight stare, and his lips pinched together.

“You heard all that, I gather?”

His entire body had bristled as though I had just told him I sided with Miss Greengrass. My stomach sank an endless pit of my body. I could not find words. I merely nodded in acknowledgement, blood finding its way back to my face to fill my cheeks as my shoulders curled forward in response to his accusation.

“I suppose you’re pleased with my misfortune.”

“ _No.”_

I breathed the word. Mr Malfoy’s lips pressed together and his eyes bore into my own. He was close enough to touch, yet a world of distance existed between us. 

“No, of course not! How could I be pleased at your unhappiness?”

His gaze slowly fell. He released a weary exhale and stepped away from me despite my desperate wish for him to remain.

“You were vocal about your wishes to hurt me last, were you not?”

He was pacing. Moving about the room with a speed that I presumed matched his racing thoughts. It only improved my nerves as I watched him, his hands drawn behind his back and eyes incapable of rest as they flicked about the room and on me, too uncomfortable or unpleased to rest on any one particular spot. 

“I’m to believe you wished me well when you were so careless with your speech?”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I had not the strength to vocalize a full response nor the courage to articulate one. It did not matter, as the Earl continued his quickened reply. 

“If you had hoped to humble me, you’d be pleased to learn you have accomplished your wishes. Or, if you sought to maim me — but, surely not. I had not thought you unfeeling. Yet, I ask myself — if you had not wished to see me in my sorry state, why come at all? Surely, you could have had the gown delivered.”

It shocked me to learn that he was still wounded.

Though what room did I have to judge the man, given my own dwelling on his offences? It had taken me days to recover from the evening of the ball, and weeks still to think of Mr Malfoy in any way other than cold and pompous.

It felt so unusual to even recall that memory, for my opinion of him had changed so.

“Why are you here, Miss Granger?”

He gazed at me openly. He had an undoubtedly guarded countenance. I could tell it in the way his lips curled into a forced sneer. Still, his gaze remained unflickering and attentive as they searched my features for an answer.

My response was simple, words escaping me like birds from their cage, yet I poured myself into the thought that passed my lips with the same fervour as his accusations.

“I wanted to see you.”

Upon my words, upon the slight widening of his eyes, and upon the silence that twinkled like fireflies between us, he took a step forward.

“ _Why?”_

I could hear the need in his voice as he uttered the word. 

Dear Mr Malfoy, I wanted to say, how could I answer that in a way that is both pleasing to your ears and true to my heart?

Had I been prepared to utter a response to him I would have, but in the midst of my hesitation a knock rattled at the door and shook my own body with a startling quake.

“Draco?”

I heard the cloying and vastly unwanted voice of Astoria Greengrass as she turned the knob and peeked her head in. Draco glanced warily away from me, his gaze lingering beats too long So much so that Astoria had looked between myself and him at least three times.

“What is this?”

“Miss Granger was delivering a package to me,” Draco answered, his spine straightened and features wiped clean of all emotion. He turned to his ex-betrothed and politely smiled. “What is it, Astoria?”

“I wanted a word — package for what?”

“A gift for his mother’s birthday,” I offered, hoping to be of use in deflating this tension-filled exchange.

I suppose I should have remained mute as Draco’s features fell and Astoria cocked a sharp brow. Her lips bowed forward and she swung the door open, taking a full step into the study.

“His mother’s birthday...?” She let out a bark of a laugh and glanced at Draco in a perplexingly incredulous grin.

I could have painted her portrait in the time it took for her expression to fade from amusement to bewilderment to sheer and unwarranted rage toward myself and Mr Malfoy. 

“You mean his mother’s birthday _three months ago_?”

His face grew pale as his gaze dropped to her feet. 

“What do you take me for, Draco? You accuse me of impropriety when you’re dallying around with this — _muggleborn_? What nerve!”

“Three months?” I asked.

“Three months?” she mocked my confused tone and adorned it with acid. 

“You dare act a bloody fool when you’re the harlot that stole Draco away from me?” 

The words slipped into my ears, but all I could hear was the pounding of my chest at Astoria’s accusations.

“That’s enough, Astoria, I haven’t so much as laid a hand on the woman.”

“You broke off our engagement for — for this?”

I didn’t understand. I could feel the world closing in around me as their eyes bore into me, full of expectation.

“Ruined — the both of you!”

They continued to speak, but I had heard enough as Astoria cast slur after slur to both myself and Mr Malfoy.

“Us ruined, Astoria you were caught with Theo by no less than three House Elves!”

“You dare speak of it in front of this — _nobody!_ I will have the heads of any elf that speaks of it!”

“And what of the butcher that saw you in his arms, naked, from the balcony?”

“Theo will pay him off — you’re finished, Draco. _Finished!”_

I could no longer bear it. 

“You will be cast into ruin, both of you!” 

My ears rang with her words, and though I knew I was innocent, I could not bear being made into a woman of indecency at the hands of a scorned aristocrat.

Without excuse and without further word, I fled the room.

I had no idea where I was going in the maze of an estate, but when sunshine hit my sensitive eyes and fresh air filled my lungs, I let out a cry of relief.

I mounted across the fertile field which upon gazing from Malfoy Manor had appeared endless. Yet with the speed of my blazing calves and the gust of air in my lungs, I hastened across the verdant ground. I knew nothing of the sun’s bright mid-morning beams, nor the pebbles under my shoe, not even of the sharp grass that grazed my ankles.

What was I doing here?

If I were truthful with myself, perhaps I was no less than a common tart. I had, after all, held the Earl’s name in my heart with such desire — after having learned that he was betrothed!

But what did the heart know of decency when faced with a man like Draco Malfoy?

In the midst of the field, I sought the lone willow tree, standing still and inviting me with all its green arms, flowing like tassels and curtains to shroud whatever hid under it. My secrets, I hoped. My desires and amorous, forbidden wishes. Hide it, even from me, I begged, for my heart knew not of its own undoing. It only ached and yearned.

I brushed past the willow’s branches, wet still from morning rain. It coated my white dress and left droplets of dew and drizzle in my hair but I cared not as I rested my form against the dense base of the tree.

I felt dazed. The world was hidden from me, revealing only the crack of sunlight as it shone on grass too far for my reach.

“Miss Granger!”

I could hear the words, but could scarcely distinguish it from the flood of noise that throbbed in my head. What a horrid dream this was.

“Grang — Hermione!”

My muscles twitched. I yearned to flee.

I could see boots gleaming in the sun. They grew closer. The shine was lost as they grew shrouded under the very same coverage. With each gliding sweep of foot before foot, my breath grew equally hurried. I drew myself to stand.

“Miss Granger,” Mr Malfoy said.

His face had blossomed red, his brow was tight and a deep crease formed in his forehead as he approached me. He appeared graceful even as his body sought to catch a breath after having chased me.

I had no words for him.

I knew not why he followed me nor of what use I was to him. 

I knew nothing of our relationship nor my feelings — except the fondness with which my eyes drank in the sight of him and how my heart seemed to beat as if they were two in my chest in his presence.

“Miss Granger,” he repeated as he closed the space between us, leaving a mere six or so feet of polite distance.

“Yes,” I responded. 

“I apologize for what you had to endure in there. Astoria is — distraught.”

I stood for a moment in a pregnant pause.

“She does not know what she says,” he continued.

I nodded. He took a small step forward, his words impassioned by gesticulating hands as he spoke.

“I ensured her understanding of your character and your family’s civility.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

“Is that all?” 

He searched my face with equal fervour as he’d done in the study.

“ _Is that all_?” I repeated. “You followed after me, Sir. Is there something you wish I would say?”

“You — fled.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

I stared at him, unsure of where to begin. Perhaps my first point of confusion would suffice.

“Was your mother’s birthday really three months ago?”

He glanced down at his hands which he gently massaged against one another.

“It was.”

His tone had gone soft. I, however, happened to find my voice as I replied.

“Why would you purchase a gift for your mother’s birthday three months late?”

He let out a sigh heavy enough to cause his shoulders to heave and the few strands of wild hair that fell near his eyes to rise with the gust.

“I required an excuse to see you,” he said, his words gentle like the breeze that swayed the branches.

“You did not. You could have simply visited. Or called on me, perhaps. Written, even.”

“You’re mistaken, madam, if you think it that easy.”

“Why must it be difficult then? And if it is as difficult as you say, why wish to see me at all, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco raked his hands through his hair again. It was the only indicator of anxiety he had, and I had learned it well.

His blue eyes burned like a white flame as they glanced at me after all.

“Why do you ask me that? You must know — you must know my feelings for you.”

I feared moving. I abhorred the thought of even flinching as I waited for his words, but he listened in perfect silence. I wished him to speak, but he clearly felt no further explanation needed except that I _should know._

“But I don’t.”

I might as well have mischaracterized his species, he looked at me with such surprise.

I continued: “You have been exceptionally kind to me. To have spent such wealth on the potion ingredients for my father, I am forever indebted to you —”

“I don’t want your debt —”

“But of your feelings, I’ve no knowledge. You have been kind to me and my family, and yet you were betrothed. You were quick to remove yourself from my presence upon my probing. What, except by the foolish whims of my heart, would I have gathered from your actions? With the lack of knowledge of your _feelings_ , I will happily accept your acquaintance. Perhaps your friendship even —”

“My friendship,” he laughed bitterly.

He stepped forward, closing the space between us. I could feel the warmth of his body as he stood mere inches from me. The smile on his face remained bitter, even as he lifted his hand and gently drew his knuckles over my cheek, feeling the heat of my blooming face as I released a shaky breath.

“I do not merely wish for your friendship.”

“I have done nothing to earn your affections,” I whispered. “Nor have I expressed any ability to gracefully enter your world, if that even were an option. I cannot bear deceit. Cannot for the life of me stand to be derided by your peers for my class or my blood.”

“Perhaps it’s a fault of my own that I made not my affections known, but of my society, I have no persuasion.”

The disappointment in his features was as plain as the ache in my chest and I struggled to swallow the words that wanted to pour out of my mouth and fight for him. But I knew he was right. There was no commonality here, save for the pace with which our hearts beat for one another.

He gazed at me as if I were Death itself come to collect his soul.

“Are we doomed, then?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you enjoyed this chapter by leaving a review and follow this fic!
> 
> Your support means the world to me, and I am so grateful for you, dear reader! 
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> Syren
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	5. Chapter 5

**Then — close the Valves of her attention — Like Stone —**

»»-------------¤-------------««

The world passed by me in swirls and murmurs. Though little in my life had changed, I could hardly recognize my surroundings anymore. Everything was grey. Every bit and bobble, acquaintance and customer, action and thought, all shades of grey and blurs of mist and inconsequential moments of meaninglessness.

I sought to sleep the days away. My bed was my sole haven as I hid under the covers and sought to spend the rest of my days in the blissful numbness of slumber.

There was a moment in the beginning where I sought to understand how my life had slipped into shadow, how even the radiant sun which sustained all life with its warmth and light did nothing to illuminate my spirits. Save for the work that pressed on, ever-increasing with the growing Ministry-ordered rations on magical clothiers, I sought to understand how life had become a hum-drum of nothingness. 

Even my curiosity faded.

My parents seemed to be the only thing that reminded me what joy was, but even they seemed to spring from me a certain sorrow that made tears flow from my eyes with ease. My mother could not understand it, for with my father back in his normal spirits I should have been, by all measures, ecstatic. But my father, my dear, loving father, understood me. 

On countless nights, when I’d wrung my bedsheets into tight coils heavy with cold sweat from sleeplessness, I would peel myself from my bed. Like a spectre, with my cadaverous pallor, flowing wrinkled garb, and hair that did not know in which angle to rest, I'd wander the halls and find myself finally in the kitchen. The flicker of candles notified me first of his being there, but the smell of warm milk and sugar filled my head with a familiarity of childhood. Comfort. I had forgotten what it felt like.

My father would sit at the kitchen table, his palms pressed against the wood and his eyes gazing at the bottom of his glass, gazing at the opaque fluid as if it held life's answers and he merely had to translate them to our language. When I would enter the room, he'd hardly gaze up.

At first, it confused me. I could not comprehend why, after I had spent days fearing his eternal farewell and fighting tirelessly to keep him in this mortal world with me—why when he had finally earned his opportunity for survival—he resorted to melancholy. Though my father was spirited, intellectual, and capable of thoughts too dark to share (I merely presume this by glancing upon the philosophical books that he'd consume regularly)—he was seldom sorrowful. Emotion was not his preferred method of understanding the world. 

Yet, upon the potion passing his lips and all manner of life filling his body, he hollowed to a shell of a man. 

"I left," he had told me on one of the many nights that we’d met in the kitchen and sat in silence. "I left this world."

It had confused me to hear it first. I wondered if, upon his return, his mind had fully recovered. 

"I saw the other side, Hermione. It was _beautiful_." 

I pried. I attempted to understand more of what he’d seen, of this other colourful land he’d visited, but words did not come. They couldn't, he said. There were no words to describe it. Human tongue could not express its beauty, which had elevated him to a plane he could not reach in this world. Was it not for my wonderful mother and me, he told me he’d no doubt seek to return to the place of light and love and perfection. 

In truth, there was no blame on my father, for I too could not share my own experiences with him. I, far more comfortable with emotion as a medium for communication, would simply cry. I would sob into my hands, the wooden chair beneath me creaking as my father would place his large comforting hand upon my shoulder and merely sit with me. He knew, I feared. He knew what pain felt like. He knew the sting of my heart, though I had not spoken of it. 

Had I another person to share my sorrows with, I would have. But Ginny had all but disappeared, her letters growing fewer and shorter as she described the upheaval of the war and the effects it had on her and her family. 

I had nothing to write her, then, but I missed her dearly. 

It was to my surprise when, upon my arduous work in my father's dress shoppe as sweat dripped down my brow and my mind faded into its usual quiet of unthinking and unfeeling (which I desperately preferred), I received a letter from her.

It was my mother who brought it to me and handed it with such glee. I understood as soon as I saw it: the letter was glistening and golden. It was the first flood of happiness I had felt in days, and it filled me so that I squealed like a babe. 

"You're joking! Married! _Ginny!_ ”

"It's about time! They've only been in love for half their lives," mother said.

"You know they were waiting til Harry came back to Englan—but, does that mean—?"

"Read it!" she urged, tearing the parchment open to reveal a beautifully written note. 

"I can't—you must read it—" 

I shoved the letter in my mother’s hands, my eyes watering enough to warrant me partially blind. 

“Ginny Weasley and Lieutenant Harry— dear me, he was promoted to _Lieutenant_? My, Ginny has done rather well for herself, hasn’t she? Alright, alright, I'll keep going— Lieutenant Harry Potter are happy to announce their wedding on the date of Fourteenth of April, oh what joy!” 

“I know,” I sobbed, burying my face in my frock. “Gods, I’m so happy for them.”

"And when is there to be a date set for you?”

“Wh-what?” I wiped my eyes and fixed my mother with a perplexed stare.

“You and that handsome Earl. Have you entrapped his heart with your brilliant mind and lovely smile, my dear?”

My mum was being kind. I knew it as she turned to me, drew back my stray strands of hair, and delicately cupped my face with maternal affection. Yet even his title caused a pang to reverberate in me and enticed a slew of emotions I had oft failed to bury deep into my subconscious. 

"You’re mistaken. There’s nothing there.”

“Oh, Hermione,” my mother sighed, the look of pity on her face enough to garner irritation on mine. “Only a man who fancies a woman would ask for a private walk and sneak a gift on the same night. Besides, I saw the way he stared at you— he was smitten!” 

“Mum, please—“

“Well, what are you going to do when you see him, then? Let him get away?” She fussed with the hem of my sleeve, dipping her hands into her pocket to withdraw a small sewing kit with which she quickly remedied the loosened string.

“Please stop! I have no intent of seeing him again.” 

“How do you figure that, dear?” 

“What on earth are you talking about? It’s not difficult to avoid an Earl given the circles I’m in.” 

“So you aren’t going to Ginny’s wedding, then? It’s being held at Malfoy Estate. That is his name, is it not?” 

Every part of me froze. The blood that suddenly pumped harder and faster in my veins turned to ice and the only part of me that could move in that moment of utter disbelief were my eyes, which fell upon the letter in my hands. 

_To Miss Hermione Granger_

_Miss Ginny Weasley and Lieutenant Harry Potter_

_Are happy to announce their wedding_

_On the date of Fourteenth of April,_

_At Six O'Clock_

_To be held at Malfoy Estate_

I blinked. I stared and the words stared back.

_Malfoy Estate._

I had no idea what to make of it. 

»»-------------¤-------------««

I could scarcely breathe as the chaise carried me past the gates. My gaze lingered on the large M welded in elegant lettering on the metal rods that separated the Earl from the world. With each stride of the carriage, my heart appeared to gallop with twice the speed as it carried me toward the grand manor. 

It had been nearly a month that I had seen Ginny, and longer still that I had seen the Earl at the very place I was approaching. Butterflies and all manner of nerves dwelt within me, breeding and sprouting with every inch that closed between myself and the perfectly manicured lawns that hugged the elegant building. 

God, what if he was there? What if he attended the wedding?

I had hardly allowed myself to consider it, but the peculiarity of her invitation bothered me so. 

She was to be wed at Malfoy Manor? I could hardly think them able to afford such a Special License, signed by the Minister of Magic himself to allow them to wed outside of a Ministry-officiated ritual site. Let alone—and this thought gave me the most pause—on _Malfoy_ property. Had they opted to pay Mister Malfoy to host? What relationship did Harry have with the Malfoys that would have provided this opportunity?

All these thoughts were enough to distract me from approaching the subject my mind had most difficulty grappling: _what if I did see him?_ How did I feel about him? 

No, I should not even think on it. Surely, the Earl would not attend such a simple wedding. Had he even known the Potters? Did he even remember Ginny's name? I thought not. 

But perhaps… Oh, to glance at his features once more. The image of him lived only in my memories. Was he as handsome as I recalled?

Perhaps he thought of me with such fondness? But, surely, no. ...did he?

_Hermione Granger, stop it._

I could not allow myself such flightful fantasies (yet, to my own dislike, they seemed to slip into my thoughts frequently). 

My heart thrust in my chest as auburn heads sparkled under the quickly setting sun. The Weasleys. A second family of my own, gathered together as they waited for their daughter and sister to marry. As soon as the chaise stopped near the most beautiful gazebo I had seen, I was met with the happy cry of Mrs Weasley. She flung her arms around me and sprinkled my face with kisses as if I were a child of her own that she’d not seen in months. 

The grounds were astoundingly adorned. The gazebo alone was of such beauty, with its white ivy-covered pillars and intricately crafted dome. There were ivory seats set upon the verdant grass and a light-golden carpet glistened on the aisle that led one's gaze so effortlessly towards the centre of the gazebo where the lovely couple would surely stand and profess their love. The entire lawn glittered with flickering floating candles that drifted overhead, casting their sparkling golden glow upon the guests. It was like the entire space was transposed from an ornate hall and merely dropped outdoors. 

It had not been a minute or so upon my arrival that Mr Weasley swept Mrs Weasley away, informing her that it was time to take their seats. They were positively beaming as they walked down the aisle and sat in the first row. 

I started to soak through my kerchief at the sight of Harry, nervous and elated all at once. It was impossible to stop the tears, they spilt so freely at the sight of my childhood best friend who, upon their first meeting, had seemed so green and entirely out of his wits as he stepped foot at Hogwarts, yet now stood before me with chiselled jaw and broad shoulder, ready to make a wife of my dearest Ginny. 

I sobbed freely, watching the Weasley brothers. First was the eldest, Bill, hand-in-hand with his darling wife, Fleur; then, with his cheerful scragginess and cool countenance, Charlie strutted forward. The twins, Fred and George, seemed to have the most fun of us all, for there was not a tear to be shed in their twinkling blue eyes. They galloped like cheerful horses down the aisle, arm-in-arm, tossing an excessive amount of white rose petals on the grassy ground below. With each petal that struck the ground, the lovely sound of chimes filled the air, as if angels themselves had descended upon the earth and were witnessing the union. 

Before he took his turn to walk to his seat, Ron tugged on my elbow and pulled me into a warm embrace. It was impossible to express how happy I was to see him. His many babes ran around and between his feet, creating a bit of heartwarming chaos as Lavender's palm rested on her belly, cradling their next little dove that would hatch into this world shortly. I was surprised to see him donning a bright-purple Ministry of Magic badge; I’d thought him unemployed and desperately in need of funds.

It was my turn to find a seat. Alone. I hoped I did it with a modicum of grace, but—after all, what did I matter? It was Ginny’s day. Ginny, darling girl, who deserved all happiness and appeared to have found it. It was seen in her face as tears trailed down her cheeks. She was an utter angel, dressed in a graceful pale blue. She glided down the walkway with an enviable amount of poise. 

My handkerchief was soaked to the point of disuse as I watched Ginny and Harry, a model of love, grip each other during the handfasting and exchange their vows.

"You are the brightness of every morning, you are the star of each night," he said. His smile beamed with such radiance, it illuminated every dark crevice of my heart. 

"You are the story of each guest, you are the report of every land," then she.

"No evil shall befall you, on hill nor bank. In field or valley, on mountain or in glen. Neither above, nor below, neither in sea, nor on short, in skies above, nor in depths." 

I could not tell who was crying more, her or me.

"You are the kernel of my heart." 

"You are the face of my sun." 

"You are the harp of my music."

"You are the crown of my company." 

With the final words, he lifted her hands to his lips and pressed a kiss there. He held her there as we all watched their eyes connect. His lip to her hand, silencing him as though her touch was all he needed. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I fought the urge to run. It felt too private; I wanted to grant this beautiful couple their moment of sheer intimacy as they became one. 

I was startled when he lowered her hand from his lips and he drew her in for an embrace. Cries of joy erupted around me, but my heart squeezed in my chest as I watched their love unite under God and loved ones alike. 

Despite the way my heart grew tired from pumping so hard, from feeling so deeply, my mind knew this: there was no better time for merriment than the moment when Harry and Ginny wed.

»»-------------¤-------------««

Merriment was no shy stranger to the Weasley clan. It seemed almost instantaneous that they were laughing and drinking without a care in the world. With a quick flick of Harry's wand, the entirety of the otherwise reverently romantic space transformed to accommodate dancing, feasting, and laughter. 

Tables appeared in previously empty space, and House Elves followed, dutifully ushering each guest to their carefully selected spot. The scent of delectable, savoury meals filled the crisp air, and drinks (which, to me, appeared the most tempting) filled glittering golden goblets. Musicians, too, apparated in and made haste to play their instruments. I sat and watched and laughed and clapped as the Weasleys jumped to their feet and danced. 

Upon several occasions, as I gently prodded my normally appetizing dinner with a fork, Ron approached me for dance. I was happy to accept, desperate to keep my mind from wandering. He had aged. I could see the way his hairline had started to crawl backwards, the creases next to his eyes had deepened, the bags under his eyes had grown puffy and dark, but he appeared so joyous that all the hallmarks of age hardly showed. Despite the exhaustion, and the time spent worrying over mundane life, he was bouncing. He was happy. Was Lavender? Would I ever be?

With each song and happy movement, the strings to my heart tugged and I sought refuge in the quiet. 

I excused myself—I gave some hasty reason, to catch my breath or chat up with someone—it did not matter, I needed a moment to just exist outside of the happy bubble that had formed around me. 

I had walked far enough away from the crowds to find some solace. It was enjoyable, still, to see the family and the felicitous lovebirds, but I no longer felt like a fraud. No longer felt like an obvious stain upon a joyous portrait as I melted into the background.

My heart pounded with a painful ache.

What was broken in me that I could not just be happy for my friend who’d found love? I tried to keep my gaze on the festivities while all I wanted to do was to turn and walk toward the Manor. But for what purpose? What could I have succeeded in forcing my company upon a man who did not want it? 

He likely did not think of me. I knew it to be true. It had to be, what cause did he have to think on lowly me? 

_You must know my feelings for you._

The words rattled in my skull, unceasing in their need for attention though I had tried to forget even the phrase. Gods. His feelings—for me? I did not know them, though if I were to fill the empty space where my doubt plagued me, I would have filled them with love. 

Alas, no. The folly of a desperate heart. Could that I mute it, I would. 

"Miss Granger, would you care to dance?" 

Ice flooded my veins—though it was not ice, it was a fire instead. Not cold, but hot as the voice filled my head. I knew that voice. I'd dreamt it, listened to it like a lullaby singing in memory. 

I moved slowly as my mind attempted to make sense of the sound, but I knew. I knew in my bones, deep in its marrow. It was _him_.

I turned. It was so slow that I could have scarcely been moving. But as my gaze filled with icy white, blue, crisp and sharp, beauty and masculinity all in one, I knew who it was. 

"Mister Malfoy." The name was a breath. An exhale, like the many before it. 

"Draco," he corrected. 

Had I not been frozen in a state of shock, I could have laughed at his correction. 

"What are you doing here?" 

I had no control over the words that fled my mouth—though it was a surprise to no one. 

He gazed down. Suddenly, I grew self-conscious of the mud that crusted on my feet, and the way my body was postured, shoulders slumped forward as I had just cradled myself. I slowly rose and straightened my form. 

Draco stumbled upon his words for a moment, opening and closing his mouth before he swallowed and appeared to gather his resolve. His blue eyes landed on me and I could feel myself stiffen under the gaze, too anxious to move.

"I should like a dance with—" 

“Mister Malfoy!” A far-off voice called out.

_No!_

My heart pounded in my chest from a sudden rage as the Weasley twins suddenly apparated out of nowhere. Did they not know what they were interrupting? Had they no idea how desperately I wanted this moment with the Earl who stood unshaken as though equally willing the twins to disappear?

Alas, there was no stopping it as the gregarious and undeniably vexing twins slipped their arms into the Earl’s and dragged him along toward the party. It was entirely inappropriate behaviour, but I hardly had a chance to say anything as I quickly flew forward, attempting to keep up with their long strides. They stood near the centre of the crowd which had circled around Harry who stood on a chair. His goblet was firmly in hand and the purest grin plastered on his face. 

"Now that our guest of honour is here,” Harry said, “I should like to raise a toast. First, to my darling bride, Ginny." 

I stood a few feet to the left of the twins, who were on either side of Mr Malfoy. He glanced over his shoulder toward me and I gave him a small smile, though I am not certain whether my confusion was apparent. What exactly was his relation to the Weasleys that they were so familiar with him, even to the point of impropriety (though the Weasley twins were always the least bit concerned about propriety)?

A heavy metal goblet filled to the brim with chilled honeymead was forcefully pressed into my hands by Molly who was already weeping, though Harry had barely begun his speech. She stood next to me, on her tip-toes, despite Harry being in clear view.

Ginny could not stop shaking with tears of her own as Harry informed her, for what appeared to be the first time, of when he’d started to fall in love with her. 

They were children. She younger than he, but the attraction was immediate. She was his best friend's little sister, and yet, despite the familiarity of her, he could hardly see anyone else in the room. She was his first love, he told her. He shared his desperate attempts of forgetting her, of finding others that he was convinced may be better suited, yet fate grabbed him and forced him to acknowledge his universal truth: she was his destiny.

Mrs Weasley wailed loudly at Harry’s words and I turned to comfort her only to find Draco gazing at me over his shoulder. 

Harry thanked his new family, his new parents—who he stated were not new to him at all and were like parents to him from the day they met. Then, to my surprise, he turned toward Mister Malfoy. All the Weasleys smiled and warmed affably to the Earl and I stood glancing between Mister Malfoy and Harry.

"And I especially would like to thank Lord Malfoy. Without him, I dare not think how long Ginny and I would have to wait for our wedding. It’s he that arranged for me to return to England, and he who wrote the Minister and had me promoted to Lieutenant that I may be able to afford my new and beautiful family."

His gaze was averted now, no longer on me.

I wasn’t quite sure I understood Harry’s words, though I seemed to be the only one in utter confusion as several of the Weasleys looked with appreciation toward Draco. 

What did he mean? Why would he do such a thing?

"Beyond those already great deeds, Mister Malfoy paid in full for our special license, paid for this glorious night, offered his home for us to share this meaningful day. He even got Ron a job!" 

"Ron, old boy, where you workin' now?" George said with a light laugh as he gazed at a small purple trinket he held between his index finger and thumb. 

He flung it in the air and caught it, holding it still long enough for me to see the large MoM engraved in the gleaming amethyst pin. Ron, suddenly red-faced and realizing that his badge had been stolen, turned to the antagonizing twins who were clearly expecting such a reaction. George shot me a wink before he flicked the badge in Fred’s direction. Mister Malfoy took a step back from the ruckus, an awkward discomfort clear in his features as he watched the grown red-headed man-children suddenly wrestle with their youngest brother who came flying at them. 

Despite the playful quarrel that distracted the guests, I remained transfixed at Harry's words.

The world melted around me as the only thing I saw was Draco. He seemed equally removed from the chaos around him, standing with poise and collected grace as Mrs Weasley turned to him, curtsied, bowed, and thanked him profusely through her unending tears.

I couldn’t look away. My jaw must have been hanging loose as I stood in shock at Harry’s words: Mister Malfoy aided in Harry promotion. He landed Ron a position at the Ministry. He ensured Harry would be stationed in England. He offered his home, paid for a special license of marriage, paid for the entirety of the evening. 

And all for—

Was it...

A knot formed in my throat. Anxiety crept like vines up my stomach. It threatened to choke me as it clutched at my insides and clung to my heart. 

How? 

How could it be?

F-for… 

_For me?_

I swallowed, but to no avail. 

The appreciative mother-of-the-bride suddenly scurried away toward her new son, leaving empty space between myself and the Earl. He glanced up and found me frozen in place.

_Did you help them for me?_

I could have cried then and there. I could have screamed from frustration at the idea of what a fool I’d been for casting him aside—for telling him there was no hope for us!

A mistake. It had been a mistake. He—he was so kind. And so pure. He helped so many people. 

_Did he love me?_

Fear gripped at me at the prospect. I cannot explain now what it was I felt, but the closest I can muster is pain—the sort of pain one feels when one's skin is peeled back, when one feels raw against the garish environment of the world which plucks and pulls at wounds I tried so desperately to cover. I was raw. I was open. My heart had cracked, its walls had fallen leaving my entirety exposed and vulnerable. 

_Gods, did I love him?_

"You—" I whispered toward the Earl, whose gaze dropped to the ground. He appeared, what was it, embarrassed? Shy? "You did all that? Why?" 

It was the softened smile his lips cast toward me that shattered something else in me. 

I could not help it. 

The sadness behind his eyes cracked my soul to pieces, yearning only his love to mould it back together, for I knew his answer, there, plain as day.

It _was_ for me. 

»»-------------¤-------------««

It was as though my emotions had startled the world. As soon as my words were uttered thunder roared in the sky above and rain poured with heavy droplets on the wedding party in full. 

"I—" 

"Excuse me—”

Everything was a blur in that moment as Mister Malfoy politely stepped away from me, despite my expression which surely matched my internal protests. 

I tried to find the silver-blond hair amid the chaos as colourful sparks flew up into the air from various wands and wedding guests scurried like rodents in search of dry air. Translucent, iridescent canopies were cast into the sky one at a time by various house-elves who worked rapidly to ensure a seamless transition and created an outdoor seating area that was very much safe from the dense drops of rainfall that splattered to the ground like heavy tears. 

Long tables with white linen appeared as though out of nowhere and the sense of panic transformed almost immediately to a sort of frenzied merriment one often only feels in childhood. It was beautiful how the music, now played by the live band, was trapped in the magical barriers of the see-through tent and amplified its dulcet sounds around us all. The blur of red hair danced in swirls like the family themselves, quickly enjoying the mere beginning of the wedding party. 

Yet, for me, it felt nothing like what I wanted. 

I searched for him, for the glint of silver, or the sharp jaw, for the scent of leather and familiar musk which made my heart leap. I could not find him anywhere, especially with the life that flooded around me in vibrant colours. I had to step away, the familiar sensation of overwhelm threatening to take over once more. 

I hoped, with a manner of desperation that I am ashamed of, that he would be there when I arrived at the tree where he once stood, but I was met with a disquieting sound of silence and darkness that enveloped around me. Still, no blond head, no sense of comfort, no quiet reassurance that he was nearby. Where could he have gone? 

I rushed back to the party, the desperation now palpable in my blood and visible in my features as my eyes searched for any indication of him. I even shook a poor house-elf by the shoulders and asked where his Master was.

“He’s left, ma’am.” 

“Left, what do you mean _‘left’_?” 

The bright green orbs of the house-elf stared with visible fear.

“What do you mean ‘left’?” My voice was shrill. 

I tried to shake him once more but suddenly I was grasping at air as, with a snap of his fingers, the house-elf disappeared from the grounds like his Master. 

Where could he have gone? 

Why would he have left?

My legs carried me away from the site of the party again, back towards the haven of the tree. The silence was not comfortable. I hated how alone it kept me. 

I let out a heavy breath as my mind buzzed with thought and my heart fluttered rapidly as I tried to take inventory of the nights’ events. It was in the privacy of my own thoughts, with the freedom to touch even a shred of emotions I had attempted to stifle and cast down to the depths of my body that I understood what I'd felt for Mr Malfoy. 

I wish I hadn’t, truth be told, because the pain I felt was overbearing as it sat on my chest like a little demon.

I leaned forward against the thick trunk of the tree, my soft fingers scraped against the rough bark and I could feel the cold, crisp surface as I pressed my forehead against it. 

Oh, God.

He left. 

He left me. He left—me. 

He could not love me, as I had previously thought. I’d finally allowed my heart to acknowledge that I had indeed fallen in love with him and—he left.

Perhaps he didn’t do it for me after all. Perhaps he was just kind, perhaps it was a political ploy! 

"Oh Gods," I choked against the words as a sob pushed through and erupted from within. It broke through my defences and overtook me as tears flooded from my eyes and I crumpled to the ground. “Oh, _Gods_.” 

My face burned with flowing tears as I pulled my knees tight against my chest. I was so small against the big imposing world with all its pain and misery, and I only made myself smaller as anxiety closed in around me, crushing me into the earth.

"What's wrong?" 

The words were so unexpected, so unforeseen, that I swear it to you I shrieked like a banshee, startling both myself and—as I fought to see behind the blur of freely flowing tears—my companion under the willow tree. 

"Hermione?" 

"Mr ... _Malfoy_?" 

I could not believe it, but as I stood a frozen mess of emotion and heartache, I glanced up to find the pained expression and sharp features of the Earl. His face was flushed red quite like mine, and his hair was unruly as he raked it back. He’d hastily loosened his cravat which now revealed his bare throat.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" I asked, confusion clinging to my thoughts above all else.

"I should ask the same but I—I needed a moment." 

He offered his hand and helped me to stand to my feet. 

"You left," I said, my words soft. 

He let out a shaken breath, his gaze lingering on me though a thousand emotions flitted behind his eyes.

"You left after Harry spoke those words and—”

He shook his head, cutting me off. I stood still in my silence, eyes wide as I watched him extend a hand toward me. 

“What?”

“I’d like that dance.” He said it so softly, his words were barely audible. 

Had I such resolve, I would have reminded the handsome Earl that he does not like to dance. I would have reminded him that we both looked such a mess that it would have been humiliating to go back to the party with the dishevelled, openly-emotional state we were both in. Yet, instead—and in favour of my better judgment as all thoughts ceased and my body took over—I stepped into him. 

Really, there was no question in my mind that he would have this dance. My fingers slipped into his, our touch melded together in a delightful warmth that pricked up my arm and landed in my stomach. 

I’d thought he would lead me toward the gathering of fire-headed Weasleys dancing with such merriment on the grounds they could have been faeries celebrating the solstice, but Mr Malfoy— _Draco_ —didn’t lead me there at all. Instead—and I say this now calmly, but in the moment my spirits lifted from my body and swirled with such glee around us that I could have cried had I not swallowed all emotion—he pulled me into him still. He danced with me there, under the quiet canopy of leaves, alone, rocking together ’neath the softly swaying branches that moved like the wrist of a gentle conductor. 

I could smell him from how close he stood to me; could see the silver-glinted whiskers on his jaw and chin that had grown from a day of not shaving. Could feel—oh, but I could feel the stare of his warm gaze on me from a mile away but in that moment, as mine lifted to meet his, I could feel it to my depths. 

He was there, holding me, the soft skin of his palm gently grazing against my wrist and hand. It was no dance I’d ever danced before, there was no rhythm nor choreography, it was us. Merely us. It was the most beautiful dance. He was there beside me, against me, his eyes lingered on mine before they fell on my lips. I dared not blink. I don’t think I breathed, for there was no need. I was no longer a body, but a floating assemblage of felicity and yearning.

_Do it, Draco_ , I whispered in my own mind. But would he? Did he want to, or was it a fanciful dream of mine? 

I let out a cry as the music, though far, faded to none and the sound of applause rang in the air. I had hoped for another song—a dozen, if God loved me—but I betrayed my feelings and replaced them with an air of dignity as Draco pulled gently away. 

“Miss Granger,” he said, though his words caught in his throat. 

I was trembling. I swallowed and sucked in a breath. The bubbles of anxiety rose within me as I gazed at him and we stood, both of us caught without words. 

Gods, I yearned for him. His company. Another touch, a slow stroll into the dark night. Even silence, I would have taken any of his time. Even as I had him there, I wanted more.

“Tell me why,” I whispered, finally. I should not have spoken—I knew he wanted to, I could see the words slowly forming in his mind, a thousand emotions flying behind his stormy eyes, yet I needed to know. 

"You did that—you helped Harry, the Weasleys, so much. You are responsible for Harry and Ginny's wedding. Why? Draco, I do not flatter myself to think you’d do so much for someone like m—"

Before I could finish my words, before the thought had chance to spring forth, my words were silenced and replaced by such magnificent tenderness as to render me thoughtless as Draco's lips captured mine. 

Instinct urged that I freeze, but how could I as I melted into a mess of want in his hands as he took my mouth and tasted, finally, the passion I had for him.

I cannot speak of the fire that lived in my belly, nor the heat that buzzed between us as his fingers slipped into my hair and his lips—his soft, delicious lips—pressed into mine. I could feel his chest fluttering with urgency, I could taste his affections for me. As he drew away before either of us fell into a state of impassion, I could scarcely breathe. 

His breath was still hot on my face, planting kisses of its own upon my lips as our eyes connected and my heart sang in my chest.

"Hermione,” he said, drawing my hands into his. “Do not think on the favours I provided to your friends, for they’re nothing. I assisted where I could in hopes that it would please the woman I love. I pray that it conveys my affection for you. You’d said that you would not like to be a part of my world, and I—I hoped, perhaps—” He swallowed and squeezed my hands. “Perhaps, I could be a part of yours. Please, Hermione, I should not like to see tomorrow without you in it."

"You did it for me."

He nodded gently. 

“It was all for you. It has been a point of deep regret for me that I did not make my affections clear. Had I known which words would aptly describe my love for you, I would have shared them, but there are not words enough to express my heart. I can't escape you, Hermione. Since the night I saw you, your burning spirit sparked a light in my life that has blinded me to everything but you. I—love you. I love you."

I had no words. How could I, he had taken my own feelings and placed them back on me. He had reciprocated the love that thrived in my soul and waited for him, and he was here. He was mine. 

I cannot recall whether I said anything of consequence or if words could be formed at all as I remained dazed and utterly drunk in love with Mister Malfoy, but with each corresponding kiss, with each subsequent embrace that made my heart flit and mind sing his name, I knew: I loved him, I loved only him, and he—he loved me. 

As we walked back to the party, after he had wiped my tears and kissed my cheeks, and reminded me over and over of his love for me, I was certain of two things: he was mine—and I his. 

»»-------------¤-------------««  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed this story. Your feedback nourishes my soul and keeps me moving forward.
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, I encourage you to check out my other works. I've written several Dramiones, Lumiones, Tomiones, and triads (though they are all rated E, heed the tags.)
> 
> Thank you,  
> Sy
> 
> \---  
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